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THG 

UNIYGRS1TY  Of  CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 


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BEYOND  THE  BREAKERS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BEYOND  THE  BREAKERS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

GEORGE  STERLING 

AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  TESTIMONY  OF  THE  SUNS" 

"A  WINE  OF  WIZARDRY" 
"THE  HOUSE  OF  ORCHIDS" 


A.  M.  ROBERTSON 

SAN  FRANCISCO 
1914 


COPYRIGHT 

1914 
BY  GEORGE   STERLING 


THE  BLAIR-MURDOCK   CO. 


TO 
MY    FATHER    AND    MY    MOTHER 


326065 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BEYOND  THE  BREAKERS 9 

THE   MASTER   MARINER 15 

THE   VOICE   OF   THE   DOVE    .  . I/ 

NIGHT    SENTRIES     IQ 

THE    MUSE   OF   THE    INCOMMUNICABLE 23 

THE    COMING    SINGER     24 

AT    THE    GRAND    CANYON     25 

NIGHTFALL 26 

ODE    ON    THE    CENTENARY    OF    THE    BIRTH    OF    ROBERT 

BROWNING 27 

AFTERWARD 36 

"TIDAL,   KING  OF   NATIONS"    37 

THE    LAST    MONSTER     42 

CHRISTMAS    UNDER    ARMS     43 

WAR      47 

ASCENSION 5O 

THE   THIRST  OF   SATAN 5! 

SCRUTINY 52 

BALLAD  OF   TWO   SEAS    53 

BALLAD  OF  ST.  JOHN  OF  NEPOMUK 57 

THE    RACK     6l 

WILLY  PITCHER  65 

"BEYOND  THE  SUNSET"   67 

RESPITE     71 

KINDRED 72 

"THAT  WALK  IN  DARKNESS" 73 

IN  THE  MARKET  PLACE 74 

THE   PALETTE 77 

THE  HUNTING  OF  DIAN 79 

A    WINTER    DAWN     83 

A    WINTER    SUNSET     84 

FORENOON    BY    THE    PACIFIC     85 


PAGE 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  DOVE 86 

SAID    THE    WIND     88 

THE   MISSION    SWALLOWS    9! 

"OMNIA    EXEUNT    IN    MYSTERIUM"     93 

"ON    A    WESTERN    BEACH"     96 

THEN    AND    NOW     98 

MENACE IOO 

THE    SECRET    ROOM     IO3 

PAST   THE   PANES IO4 

FROM     THE     MOUNTAIN     IO5 

DISCORD IO6 

LINEAGE IO8 

TO    ONE    SELF-SLAIN     ICK) 

NIGHT   ON   THE   MOUNTAIN    HO 

THE    ABANDONED    FARM     Ill 

TO  H.  G.  WELLS 114 

"CAELI  ENARRANT" 1 16 

"YOU  NEVER  CAN  TELL" 119 

DAWN  FROM  A  WESTERN  MOUNTAIN  121 

THE  SETTING  123 

THE  SLEEPERS   124 

THE  SLEEP  OF  BIRDS 126 

SPRING  IN  MONTEREY   128 

THE  LAST  DAYS  130 

NATURAL  HISTORY  ITEMS: 

FATER  COYOTE  132 

THE  LAGOON    134 

RELATIVITY    136 

THE  PLAINT  OF  THE  COTTONTAILS 137 

A  POSSIBILITY   I4O 


BEYOND  THE  BREAKERS 


BEYOND  THE  BREAKERS 

TO  JAMES  HOPPER. 

The  world  was  full  of  the  sound  of  a  great  wind  out 

of  the  West, 
And  the  tracks  of  its  feet  were  white  on  the  trampled 

ocean's  breast. 
And  I  said,  "With  the  sea  and  wind  I  will  mix  my 

body  and  soul, 
Where  the  breath  of  the  planet  drives  and  the  herded 

billows  roll." 

And  down  through  the  pines  I  went,  to  the  shore- 
sands  warm  and  white, 

Till  I  saw  from  the  ocean's  verge  the  gulls  in  shriek 
ing  flight, — 

Till  the  wind  was  sharp  in  my  face,  and  pure  and 
strong  in  its  sweep 

From  the  smokeless  dome  of  the  world  and  a  thous 
and  leagues  of  the  deep. 


BEYOND.  THE  BREAKERS 

The  breakers  rose  before  me  where  the  hard,  wet 

sands  were  grey — 

Each  in  its  colored  robe,  fronting  the  new-born  day; 
The  singing  waves  of  the  sea,  clean  beyond  all  of 

clean, 
Beautiful,  swift,  alive,  undulant,  apple-green. 

Who  shall  grapple  with  lions  or  wrestle  with 

seraphim  ? 

Even  so  can  the  surf  come  forth  in  its  power  to  him — 
Legion  crying  to  legion,  hurled  to  the  steadfast  shore ; 
Rampart  answering  rampart,  where  the  flame-shaped 

summits  roar. 

And  I  flung  me  forth  at  their  strength,  at  their  might 
of  motion  and  sound, 

Till  the  foam-bolts  stung  my  brow  and  the  foam- 
chains  ringed  me  around, 

And  the  hissing  ridges  ran  like  dragons  driven  by 
gods — 

Mad  with  the  battle-cries  and  their  unseen  lashes  and 
rods. 

10 


BEYOND   THE  BREAKERS 

From  fighting  nostrils  to  feet  the  ocean  clad  me  in 
cold, 

Tingling,  thrilling  and  sweet,  a  raiment  none  could 
behold, 

As  I  rose  with  urging  of  arms  to  the  shattered  foam- 
crests'  rain, 

To  look  far  over  the  deep  and  sink  from  the  wind 
again. 

O  hills  of  voices  and  snows,  O  valleys  of  sapphire  and 

calm, 
That  smote  and  wrenched  and  released  to  moments 

of  respite  and  balm ! 
Splendid,  young  and  eternal,  from  bridals  of  wind 

and  sea, 
Tho  I  sleep  at  last  in  your  vaults,  yet  first  ye  shall 

war  with  me ! 

Furious,  swift,  they  came,  the  pulse  and  surge  of  the 
deep, 


II 


BEYOND   THE  BREAKERS 

Rank  on  rank  in  their  beauty,  poised  for  the  shore 
ward  leap, 
Lifting  my  form  in  crystal  to  gaze  out  over  the 

West- 
Grasping  in  sudden  wrath  at  limbs  and  loins  and 
breast. 

Then  was  it  as  tho  companions,  godlike,  alert,  unseen, 
Swam  under  and  at  my  sides,  with  sight  unerring  and 

keen, 
Touching,  splashing  and  laughing  (and  I  hear  their 

laughter  still), 
Where  the  foam  shot  sudden  veils  in  the  waters  torn 

and  chill. 

And  I  shouted  to  them  in  kinship,  in  ocean  ardor  and 

love, 

Lifting  an  arm  to  the  sun  and  the  azure  far  above, — 
Mixing  my  voice  with  their's  and  the  sea-wind's 

lordly  song, — 


12 


BEYOND   THE  BREAKERS 

Feeling  them  stir  about  me,  the  swimmers  happy  and 
strong. 

Felt  I  not  with  them,  the  invisible  at  mirth, 

The  wind  and  wonder  of  life,  the  thrill  and  union  of 
earth  ?— 

More  intimate,  more  sure,  for  the  sea's  high  loneli 
ness, 

Than  the  blinded  sages  dream,  or  the  land-bound 
people  guess. 

The  great  embrace  of  ocean  was  closer  than  love's 

can  be; 
Its  clasp  was  sharp  on  my  limbs,  yet  went  I  supple 

and  free. 
The  breast  of  the  deep  unheaved  as  a  mother's  under 

a  child — 
Terrible,  tender,  strong,  imperial,  undefiled. 


BEYOND   THE  BREAKERS 

So  for  a  space  I  lived  with  life  intense  and  aware, 
Far  from  the  human  swarm  and  mortal  folly  and 

care — 

I,  the  foam  of  earth,  assoiled  by  the  ocean-foam, 
I,  the  homeless  of  worlds,  forgetting  the  dream  of 

Home. 

Yet  in  the  end  it  was  earth  that  called  me  in  from  the 

vast, 
Till  the  salt,  wild  waters  boiled  and  the  spray  was 

thin  on  the  blast, 
And  the  undertow  swept  out,  laughing  at  strength  like 

mine, 
Till  I  rode  to  shore  on  a  wave  that  stung  with  its 

hurtled  brine. 


Carmel,  California. 


THE  MASTER  MARINER 

My  grandsire  sailed  three  years  from  home, 
And  slew  unmoved  the  sounding  whale : 

Here  on  a  windless  beach  I  roam 
And  watch  far  out  the  hardy  sail. 

The  lions  of  the  surf  that  cry 

Upon  this  lion-colored  shore 
On  reefs  of  midnight  met  his  eye : 

He  knew  their  fangs  as  I  their  roar. 

My  grandsire  sailed  uncharted  seas, 
And  toll  of  all  their  leagues  he  took : 

I  scan  the  shallow  bays  at  ease, 
And  tell  their  colors  in  a  book. 


THE  MASTER  MARINER 

The  anchor-chains  his  music  made 

And  wind  in  shrouds  and  running-gear 

The  thrush  at  dawn  beguiles  my  glade, 
And  once,  'tis  said,  I  woke  to  hear. 

My  grandsire  in  his  ample  fist 

The  long  harpoon  upheld  to  men: 

Behold  obedient  to  my  wrist 

A  grey  gull's-feather  for  my  pen ! 

Upon  my  grandsire's  leathern  cheek 
Five  zones  their  bitter  bronze  had  set 

Some  day  their  hazards  I  will  seek, 
I  promise  me  at  times.    Not  yet. 

I  think  my  grandsire  now  would  turn 

A  mild  but  speculative  eye 
On  me,  my  pen  and  its  concern, 

Then  gaze  again  to  sea — and  sigh. 


16 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  DOVE 

Hear  I  the  mourning-dove, 
As  now  the  swallow  floats 
Low  o'er  the  shadowed  oats? 

Soft  as  the  voice  of  love, 
Hear  I  her  slow  and  supplicating  notes? 

O  fugitive !     O  lone  ! 

O  burden  pure  and  strong 
That  summer  noons  prolong ! 

O  link  in  music  shown 
Between  the  silence  and  an  angel's  song! 

The  dulcimer  and  lute 

Hoard  not  so  swoonless  woe. 
What  grief  of  long  ago 
Would  now  thy  tones  transmute 
To  what  we  sought  afar  and  could  not  know? 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  DOVE 

Thy  yearnings  yet  elude 

Our  quest  and  scrutiny, 

Tho  mortals  echo  thee 
Thy  moan  in  solitude 
For  dreams  that  are  not  nor  shall  ever  be. 

So  broken  waters  hold 
A  voice  to  sorrow  set, — 
A  world's  foreknown  regret, 

Immutable,  untold. 
So  seas  remember,  tho  our  souls  forget 


18 


NIGHT-SENTRIES 

Ever,  as  sinks  the  day  on  sea  or  land, 

Called  or  uncalled  you  take  your  kindred  posts. 
At  helm  and  lever,  wheel  and  switch  you  stand, 
On  the  world's  wastes  and  melancholy  coasts. 

Strength  to  the  patient  hand ! 
To  all,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light! 

Now  roars  the  wrenching  train  along  the  dark: 

How  many  watchers  guard  the  barren  way, 
In  signal-towers,  at  stammering  keys,  to  mark 
What  word  the  whispering  horizons  say! 

To  all  that  see  and  hark,— 
To  all,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light ! 


NIGHT-SENTRIES 

On  ruthless  streets,  on  by-ways  sad  with  sin, 

(Half  hated  by  the  blinded  ones  you  guard) 
Guard  well,  lest  crime  unheeded  enter  in! 
The  dark  is  cruel  and  the  vigil  hard. 

The  hours  of  guilt  begin. 
To  all,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light ! 

Now  reels  the  pulsing  hull  adown  the  sea: 

Gaze  onward,  anxious  eyes,  to  mist  or  star ! 
Where  foams  the  heaving  highway  wide  and  free? 
Where  wait  the  reef,  the  berg,  the  cape,  the  bar? 

Whatever  menace  be, 
To  all,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light ! 

Now  the  surf-rumble  rides  the  midnight  wind, 
And  grave  patrols  are  at  the  ocean-edge. 

Now  soars  the  rocket  where  the  billows  grind, 
Discerned  too  late,  on  sunken  shoal  or  ledge. 


20 


NIGHT-SENTRIES 

To  all  that  seek  and  find,— 
To  all,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light ! 

On  lonely  headlands  gleam  the  lamps  that  warn, 

Star-steady,  or  a-blink  like  dragon-eyes. 
Govern  your  rays,  or  wake  the  giant  horn 
Within  the  fog  that  welds  the  sea  and  skies! 

Far  distant  runs  the  morn : 
To  all,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light ! 

Now  glow  the  lesser  lamps  in  rooms  of  pain, 

Where  nurse  and  doctor  watch  the  joyless  breath, 
Drawn  in  a  sigh,  and  sighing  lost  again. 

Who  waits  without  the  threshhold,  Life  or  Death? 

Reckon  you  loss  or  gain? 
To  all,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light! 


21 


NIGHT-SENTRIES 

Honor  to  you  that  guard  our  welfare  now ! 

To  you  that  constant  in  the  past  have  stood 
To  you  by  whom  the  future  shall  avow 
Unconquerable  fortitude  and  good! 

Upon  the  sleepless  brow 
Of  each,  alert  and  faithful  in  the  night, 
May  there  be  Light ! 


22 


THE  MUSE  OF  THE  INCOMMUNICABLE 

An  echo  often  have  our  singers  caught, 

And  they  that  bend  above  the  saddened  strings; 

One  hue  of  all  the  hundred  on  her  wings 
Our  painters  render,  and  our  men  of  thought 
In  realms  mysterious  her  face  have  sought 

And  glimpsed  its  marvel  in  elusive  things. 

Her  fragrance  gathers  and  her  shadow  clings 
To  all  the  loveliness  that  man  hath  wrought. 

The  wind  of  lonely  places  is  her  wine. 

Still  she  eludes  us,  hidden,  husht  and  fleet, 

A  star  withdrawn,  a  music  in  the  gloom. 
Beauty  and  death  her  speechless  lips  assign, 
Where  silence  is,  and  where  the  surf-loud  feet 
Of  armies  wander  on  the  sands  of  doom. 


THE  COMING  SINGER 

The  Veil  before  the  mystery  of  things 

Shall  stir  for  him  with  iris  and  with  light; 
Chaos  shall  have  no  terror  in  his  sight 

Nor  earth  a  bond  to  chafe  his  urgent  wings; 

With  sandals  beaten  from  the  crowns  of  kings 
Shall  he  tread  down  the  altars  of  their  night, 
And  stand/  with  Silence  on  her  breathless  height, 

To  hear  what  song  the  star  of  morning  sings. 


With  perished  beauty  in  his  hands  as  clay, 

Shall  he  restore  futurity  its  dream. 
Behold  !   his  feet  shall  take  a  heavenly  way 
Of  choric  silver  and  of  chanting  fire, 
Till  in  his  hands  unshapen  planets  gleam, 

'Mid  murmurs  from  the  Lion  and  the  Lyre.    TT 


24 


* 
y\ 


AT  THE  GRAND  CANON 

Thou  settest  splendors  in  my  sight,  O  Lord ! 
It  seems  as  tho  a  deep-hued  sunset  falls 
Forever  on  these  Cyclopean  walls, — 

These  battlements  where  Titan  hosts  have  warred, 

And  hewn  the  world  with  devastating  sword, 
And  shook  with  trumpets  the  eternal  halls 
Where  seraphim  lay  hid  by  bloody  palls 

And  only  Hell  and  Silence  were  adored. 

Lo !   the  abyss  wherein  great  Satan's  wings 

Might  gender  tempests,  and  his  dragons'  breath 

Fume  up  in  pestilence.     Beneath  the  sun 
Or  starry  outposts  on  terrestrial  things, 
Is  no  such  testimony  unto  Death\ 
Nor  altars  builded  to  Oblivion. 


NIGHTFALL 

Pure  and  argent,  westward  far, 
Burns  a  solitary  star, 

Trembling  as  in  doubt 
If  to  linger,  if  to  go. 

Now  the  blunt-faced  owls  are  out, 
Soft  of  wing  as  falling  snow. 

Now  the  moth  awakes  to  be 
Part  of  evening's  sorcery — 

White  as  firstling  foam. 
'Ware  thee,  witch's  butterfly! 

Dryad  mists  from  woodlands  roam 
On  her  hidden  rites  to  spy. 

Feel  ye  not  the  twilight-awe? 
Youngest  things  more  closely  draw 

To  the  mother-breast: 
That  shall  nevermore  betray. 

Now  ye  know,  who  sought  for  rest, 
Why  ye  found  it  not  in  day. 


26 


ODE  ON  THE  CENTENARY  OF  THE 
BIRTH  OF  ROBERT  BROWNING 

As  unto  lighter  strains  a  boy  might  turn 

From  where  great  altars  burn 
And  Music's  grave  archangels  tread  the  night, 
So  I,  in  seasons  past, 
Loved  not  the  bitter  might 
And  merciless  control 
Of  thy  bleak  trumpets  calling  to  the  soul. 

Their  consummating  blast 
Held  inspirations  of  affright, 

As  when  a  faun 
Hears  mournful  thunders  roll 
On  breathless,  wide  transparencies  of  dawn. 

Nor  would  I  hear 
With  thee,  superb  and  clear 
The  indomitable  laughter  of  the  race; 
Nor  would  I  face 


27 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

Clean  Truth,  with  her  cold  agates  of  the  well, 

Nor  with  thee  trace 
Her  footprints  passing  upward  to  the  snows, 

But  sought  a  phantom  rose 
And  islands  where  the  ghostly  siren  sings; 

Nor  would  I  dwell 
Where  star-forsaking  wings 
On  mortal  threshholds  hide  their  mystery, 

Nor  watch  with  thee 
The  light  of  Heaven  cast  on  common  things. 

But  now  in  dreams  of  day  I  see  thee  stand 
A  grey,  great  sentry  on  the  encompassed  wall 
That  fronts  the  Night  forever,  in  thy  hand 

A  consecrated  spear 
To  test  the  dragons  of  man's  ancient  fear 

From  secret  gulfs  that  crawl — 
A  captain  of  that  choral  band 
Whose  reverend  faces,  anxious  of  the  Dark, 
Yet  undismayed 


28 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

By  rain  of  ruined  worlds  against  the  night, 

Turned  evermore  to  hark 
The  music  of  God's  silence,  and  were  stayed 
By  something  other  than  the  reason's  light. 

And  I  have  seen  thee  as 

An  eagle,  strong  to  pass 
Where  tempest-shapen  clouds  go  to*  and  fro 

And  winds  and  noons  have  birth, 
But  whose  regard  is  on  the  lands  b^low 

And  wingless  things  of  earth. 

And  yet  not  thine  for  long 
The  feigned  passion  of  the  nightingale, 
Nor  shards  of  haliotis,  nor  the  song 
Of  cymballed  fountains  hidden  in  tke  dale, 
Nor  gardens  where  the  feet  of  Fragrance  steal 

'Twas  thine  the  laying^on  to  feel 
Of  tragic  hands  imperious  <and  cold, 
That  grasping,  led  thee  from  the  dreams  of  old, 

Making  thee  voyager 


29 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

Of  seas  within  the  cosmic  solitude, 

Whose  moons  the  long-familiar  stars  occlude, — 

Whose  living  sunsets  stir 
With  visions  of  the  timelessness  we  crave. 

And  thou  didst  ride  a  wave 
That  gathered  solemn  music  to  its  breast, 
And  breaking,  shook  our  strand  with  thought's  un 
rest, 

Till  men  far  inland  heard  its  mighty  call 
Where  the  young  mornings  leap  the  world's  blue 
wall. 

Nature  hath  lonely  voices  at  her  heart 

And  some  thou  heardst,  for  at  thine  own 

Were  chords  beyond  all  Art 
That  thrill  but  to  the  eternal  undertone. 

But  not  necessitous  to  thee 
The  dreams  that  were  when  Arcady  began 
Or  Paphos  soared  in  iris  from  the  sea ; 
For  thou  couldst  guess 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

The  rainbows  hidden  in  the  frustrate  slime, 
And  sawst  in  crownless  Man 
A  Titan  scourged  thro  Time 

With  pains  and  raptures  of  his  loneliness. 
And  thou  wast  wanderer 

In  that  dim  House  that  is  the  human  heart, 
Where  thou  didst  roam  apart, 
Seeing  what  pillars  were 

Between  its  deep  foundations  and  the  sun, 
What  halls  of  dream  undone, 

What  seraphs  hold  compassionate  their  wings 

Between  the  youth  and  bitterness  of  things, 
Ere  all  see  clear 

The  gain  in  loss,  the  triumph  in  the  tear. 

Time's  whitest  loves  lie  radiant  in  thy  song, 
Like  starlight  on  an  ocean,  for  thine  own 

Was  as  a  deathless  lily  grown 
In  Paradise — ethereal  and  strong. 
And  to  thine  eyes 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

Earth  had  no  earth  that  held  not  haughty  dust, 
And  seeds  of  future  harvestings  in  trust, 
And  hidden  azures  of  eventual  skies. 

Yet  hadst  thou  sharper  strains, 
Even  as  the  Power  determines  us  with  pains, 
And  seeing  harvests,  sawst  as  well  the  chaff, 
And  seeing  Beauty,  sawst  her  shames  no  less, 

Losing  the  sweet, 
High  thunder  of  thy  Jovian  laugh 
On  souls  purblind  in  their  self-righteousness. 

O  vision  wide  and  keen! 
Which  knew,  untaught,  that  pains  to  joyance  are 

As  night  unto  the  star 
That  on  the  effacing  dawn  must  burn  unseen. 

And  thou  didst  know  what  meat 

Was  torn  to  give  us  milk, 
What  countless  worms  made  possible  the  silk 

That  robes  the  mind,  what  plan 
Drew  as  a  bubble  from  old  infamies 

And  fen-pools  of  the  past 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

The  shy  and  many-colored  soul  of  man. 

Yea !    thou  hast  seen  the  lees 
In  that  rich  cup  we  lift  against  the  day, 
Seen  the  man-child  at  his  disastrous  play — 

His  shafts  without  a  mark, 
His  fountains  flowing  downward  to  the  dark, 

His  maiming  and  his  bars, 

Then  turned  to  see 

His  vatic  shadow  cast  athwart  the  stars, 
And  his  strange  challenge  to  infinity. 

But  who  am  I  to  speak, 
Far  down  the  mountain,  of  its  altar-peak, 

Or  cross  on  feeble  wings, 
Adventurous,  the  oceans  in  thy  mind? 
We  of  a  wider  day's  bewilderings 

For  very  light  seem  blind, 
And  fearful  of  the  gods  our  hands  have  formed. 

Some  lift  their  eyes  and  seem 
To  see  at  last  the  lofty  human  scheme 


33 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

Fading  and  toppling  as  a  sunset  stormed 

By  wind  and  evening,  with  the  stars  in  doubt. 

And  some  cry,  "On  to  Brotherhood!"     And  some, 

(Their  Dream's  high  music  dumb)  : 
"Nay!   let  us  hide  in  roses  all  our  chains, 

Tho  all  the  lamps  go  out! 

Let  us  accept  our  lords! 

Time's  tensions  move  not  save  to  subtler  pains" 
And  over  all  the  Silence  is  as  swords.  .  .  . 
Wherefore  be  near  us  in  our  day  of  choice, 

Lest  Hell's  red  choirs  rejoice; 

And  may  our  counsels  be 
More  wise,  more  kindly,  for  the  thought  of  thee; 

And  may  our  deeds  attest 

Thy  covenant  of  fame 
To  men  of  after-years  that  see  thy  name 
Held  like  a  flower  by  Honor  to  her  breast. 
Thy  station  in  our  hearts  long  since  was  won — 

Safe  from  the  jealous  years — 
Thou  of  whose  love,  thou  of  whose  thews  and  tears 


34 


BROWNING  CENTENARY  ODE 

We  rest  most  certain  when  the  day  is  done 

And  formless  shadows  close  upon  the  sun ! 

Thou  wast  a  star  ere  death's  long  night  shut  down, 

And  for  thy  brows  the  crown 
Was  graven  ere  the  birth-pangs,  and  thy  bed 
Is  now  of  hallowed  marble,  and  a  fane 

Among  the  mightier  dead: 

More  blameless  than  thine  own  what  soul  hath  stood? 
Dost  thou  lie  deaf  until  another  Reign, 

Or  hear  as  music  o'er  thy  head 
The  ceaseless  trumpets  of  the  war  for  Good? 
Ah,  thou !    ah,  thou  ! 

Stills  God  thy  question  now? 


35 


AFTERWARD 

Here  in  the  dale  sweet  waters  grieve, 

Where  fountains  westward  sob  and  flow, 

And  I  gave  my  Love  to  drink  at  eve 
From  a  lily's  cup  of  snow. 

White  were  the  stars  beyond  her  head 
As  was  the  chalice  whence  she  quaffed, 

And  wet  her  lips  as  she  smiled  and  said 
How  low  the  waters  laughed. 

I  have  forgotten  if  so  it  seemed 
In  that  communing  dusk  to  me, 

Tho  I  forget  not  that  which  we  dreamed 
Ere  the  river  met  the  sea. 

Now,  O  brook  of  the  cancelled  years, 
I  watch  your  vesper  stream  depart ! 

Its  mourning  flood  is  one  with  my  tears, 
And  its  sound  is  in  my  heart. 

36 


"TIDAL,  KING  OF  NATIONS" 
Genesis  xiv:  1-17 

Tidal,  king  of  nations,  is  it  night  and  silence  for 

thee, — 
For  all  who  smote  by  the  slime-pits  and  were  slain 

in  the  valley  of  kings? 
Come  there  dreams  to  the  bed  of  stone  which  none 

attaineth  to  see — 

Mirth   of   thy   captains,   moan   of   thy  slaves   or 
shadow  of  voiceless  things? 

Amraphel  and  Arioch  and  Elam's  over-lord, 

Hold  they  still  the  pact  they  held  by  the  salt-sea's 

bitter  breath? 
Speak  they  yet  of  the  battle's  range  when  the  nine 

kings  drew  the  sword? 

Beck  they  now  for  a  phantom  wine  in  the  sunless 
courts  of  Death? 


37 


"TIDAL,   KING   OF  NATIONS" 

Tidal,  king  of  nations,  the  desert  is  seal  of  thy  tomb; 
He  who  breaketh  that  ashen  seal  may  sell  thy  bones 

for  a  price. 
Thy  sceptre  rotteth  unheld  and  thy  chariot  in  the 

gloom, 

And  the  ghosts  of  thy  gods  come  not  to  the  evening 
sacrifice. 

There,  tho  the  twilight  deepen,  no  harps  are  sad  for 

thy  sake; 
Thou  with  care  for  thy  wraths  alone  hast  seen  how 

the  captains  fail. 

Time  for  thy  doves  hath  given  dust,  for  thy  melon- 
vine  the  snake, 

The  bittern's  cry  for  thy  viol's  voice,  and  the  bat 
for  thy  nightingale. 

Tidal,  king  of  nations,  and  traitor  to  each  for  pride, 
Thou  wert  no  wall  to  thy  people,  nor  guard  in  a 
narrow  place; 


"TIDAL,  KING  OF  NATIONS" 

Thy  will  it  was  on  Admah  and  the  hearths  of  Zoar 

to  ride, 

Slaying  beyond  thy  borders,  till  the  arrow  sang  at 
thy  face. 

Treasure  and  flocks  and  women,  and  all  things  fair  in 

thy  sight, 
They  for  thine  eyes  were  herded — and  what  do 

thine  eyes  discern? 
Foeman  and  friend  are  broken,  and  none  remaineth 

to  fight; 

They  that  supped  with  War  hath  War  now  eaten 
in  turn. 

Tidal,  king  of  nations,  could  life  be  given  again, 
For  what  thy  sword  uplifted  in  the  battle  that 

kings  must  use? 
Would  thy  heart  give  thought  to  the  secret  of  man's 

unsearchable  pain, 

Keeping  thy  trust  with  the  orphan,  and  the  widow's 
empty  cruse? 


39 


"TIDAL,   KING   OF  NATIONS" 

The  water-ways  are  broken  that  led  to  the  corn  and 

grape : 
Thy  steel  was  to  other  torrents,  thy  steeds  to 

another  goal. 
Alas  for  our  faithless  hands  that  mar  whatever  they 

shape, — 

For  the  dusts  made  equal  now  in  the  palm  of  the 
groping  mole ! 

Tidal,  king  of  nations,  the  world  is  weary  of  strife; 
We  stand  aghast  by  our  engines,  that  wait  for  the 

trumpet's  call. 
Must  man  be  brute  forever  and  Hate  be  lord  over 

Life? 

Nay!    tho  the  midnight  question,  the  morning 
answereth  all! 

Still  wait  the  fields  for  the  sower,  tho  the  lords  of  Ur 
be  not; 


40 


"TIDAL,   KING   OF  NATIONS" 

The  heavenly  roads  lie  open  to  the  horses  of  the 

sun; 

And  still  the  mighty  Hands,  unchangeable,  unbegot, 
Test  as  of  old  the  nations,  till  the  many  realms  are 

one. 


THE  LAST  MONSTER 

In  backward  vision,  from  the  primal  dusk 
I  saw  them  writhe,  reptile  and  horned  asp, 
Lizard  and  hydra,  serpents  of  the  fen, 
Abominable.     Then  the  waddling  bulks, 
With  fangs  of  death  emergent  from  the  slime 
Primordial,  rose  to  the  light  of  suns. 
Thereafter  quaked  the  rank  and  steaming  earth 
To  tread  of  mammoths,  and  the  giant  bear, 
Insatiate,  loomed  shaggy  on  the  night, 
Contending  with  the  tiger  for  his  glut. 
Then  sprang  the  apes,  malevolent  and  swift, 
Upon  the  stage  of  being — part  of  life 
That  lived  on  life.    Then  a  new  darkness  fell, 
Pierced  by  the  moans  of  mighty  shapes  that  died. 
Whereat  the  sun  rose  elder  and  austere, 
And  mute  against  the  dawn,  alert  for  death, 
With  engines  of  destruction  left  and  right, 
Scanning  the  skies  stood  the  last  monster,  Man. 


CHRISTMAS  UNDER  ARMS 

By  the  star  that  led  kings  to  His  feet  in  the  night  of 

His  birth, 
Put  ye  no  trust  in  kings  nor  the  mighty  ones  of  the 

earth ! 
Put  ye  no  trust  in  prayer  nor  abase  ye  unto  the 

Past— 
By  the  star  of  the  mind  alone  shall  your  sons  see  clear 

at  last! 

Who  are  we  that  we  make  us  a  feast,  or  say  of  the 
years,  uThey  are  ours!" 

As  the  lost  might  revel  in  Hell  and  bind  their  fore 
heads  with  flowers? 

Wherefore  now  are  we  glad,  when  the  nations  toil  in 
their  night, 

Seeking  them  battle-music  and  engines  grievous  to 
smite  ? 


43 


CHRISTMAS   UNDER   ARMS 

A  thousand  masters  are  ours,  and  the  weight  of  a 

thousand  chains; 
We  cease  not  this  side  death  to  seek  new  bondage  and 

pains. 
Him  that  forgeth  the  shackles,  him  we  acknowledge 

as  lord, 
And  darker  over  the  burdened  world  falls  the  shadow 

of  the  sword. 

Cannon  arraigneth  cannon,  and  fort  is  answer  to  fort; 
Death  sits  silent  and  masked  by  the  cliffs  and  dunes 

of  the  port ; 
They  gird  themselves  in  the  East  to  the  day  when 

their  battleships  go  forth; 
And  there  comes  no  pause  in  the  thunder  of  the  forges 

of  war  in  the  North. 
Whither,   O  Man !    say  whither  may  the  steel-girt 

highway  lead! 


44 


CHRISTMAS   UNDER   ARMS 

We  have  made  of  the  past  a  shambles  red  and  a  place 

where  vultures  feed. 
Nay  I  must  it  ever  be  thus  with  the  hope  and  promise 

of  Life- 
Ever  the  agony,  ever  the  waste  and  the  hatred  and 

blindness  of  strife? 

Which  way  we  look  is  night,  and  the  wind  of  a  great 

unrest 
Moans  on  our  high-built  towers,  and  passes  on  to  the 

West. 
Vague  in  the  gloom  before  us  move  shadows  vaster 

than  man, 
And  doubts  lay  hold  on  the  human  host  and  rumors 

trouble  our  van. 

Have  we  builded  but  for  the  flame,  and  sown  that 

Death  may  reap  ? 
Shall  we  give  our  morning  to  murder  and  our  noon 

to  eternal  sleep? 


45 


CHRISTMAS  UNDER  ARM§ 

Answer,  Thou  who  we  dream  dost  abide  in  the  gloom 

apart ! — 
There  is  no  answer,  O  Man !   except  in  the  silence  of 

thy  heart ! 

With  thee  alone  is  the  answer,   and  the  answer  is 

uLove  and  Peace!" 
Except  the  message  be  heard,  the  bountiful  years  shall 

cease; 
Except  the  message  be  honored,  a  curse  shall  come 

to  the  lands 
Where  thou  waitest  on  Christmas  morning  with  a 

sheathless  sword  in  thy  hands! 


WAR 

The  night  was  on  the  world,  and  in  my  sleep 
I  heard  a  voice  that  cried  across  the  dark: 
"Give  steel!"     And  gazing  I  beheld  a  red, 
Infernal  stithy.    There  were  Titans  five 
Assembled,  thewed  and  naked  and  malign 
Against  the  glare.     One  to  the  furnace-throat, 
Whence  issued  screams,  fed  shapes  of  human  use- 
The  hammer,  axe  and  plow.    Those  molten  soon, 
Another  haled  the  dazzling  ingot  forth 
With  tongs,  and  gave  it  to  the  anvil.     Two, 
With  massy  sledges  throbbing  at  the  task, 
Harried  the  gloom  with  unenduring  stars 
And  poured  a  clangorous  music  on  the  dark, 
With  loud,  astounding  shock  and  counter-shock 
Incessant.    And  the  fifth  colossus  stood 
The  captain  of  that  labor.    From  his  form 


47 


WAR 

Spread  wings  more  black  than  Hell's  high-altar — 

ribbed 

As  are  the  vampire-bat's.    The  night  grew  old, 
And  I  was  then  aware  they  shaped  a  sword.   .   .   . 

In  that  domain  and  interval  of  dream 

'T  was  dawn  upon  the  headlands  of  the  world, 

And  I,  appalled,  beheld  how  men  had  reared 

A  mountain,  dark  below  the  morning  star — 

A  peak  made  up  of  houses  and  of  herds, 

Of  cradles,  yokes  and  all  the  handiwork 

Of  man.    Upon  its  crest  were  gems  and  gold, 

Rare  fabrics,  and  the  woof  of  humble  looms. 

Harvests  and  groves  and  battlements  were  made 

Part  of  its  ramparts,  and  the  whole  was  drenched 

With  oil  and  wine  and  honey.    Then  thereon 

Men  bound  their  sons,  the  fair,  alert  and  strong, 

Sparing  no  household.    And  when  all  were  bound, 

Brands  were  brought  forth :  the  mount  became  a  pyre, 

Black  from  that  red  immensity  of  flame, 


WAR 

A  tower  of  smoke,  upcoiling  to  the  sky, 

Was  shapen  by  the  winds,  and  took  the  form 

Of  him  who  in  the  stithy  gave  command. 

A  shadow  between  day  and  men  he  stood ; 

His  eyes  looked  forth  on  nothingness;    his  wings 

Domed  desolations,  and  the  scarlet  sun 

Glowed  thro  their  darkness  like  a  seal  that  God 

Might  set  on  Hell  forever.    Then  the  pyre 

Shrank,  and  he  reeled.    Whereat,  to  save  that  shape 

Their  madness  had  evoked  in  death  and  pain, 

Men  rose  and  made  a  second  sacrifice. 


49 


ASCENSION 

When  I  contemplate  this  mine  urgent  race 

And  see  what  paths  its  tireless  feet  have  worn, 
In  silence  and  essential  night  forlorn, 

To  each  cold  peak  that  gives  on  mental  space, — 

Each  spirit-eyrie  of  our  time  and  place, 
It  seems  a  Titan  toiling  toward  the  morn, 
With  bloody  feet  and  coronal  of  thorn, 

And  holding  to  the  skies  an  exiled  face. 

Hasten,  O  Time,  that  far,  atoning  Day 

Whose  feet  of  fire  shall  quench  the  lesser  lights, 

Yet  to  whose  music,  old  ere  life  began 
And  throats  and  harps  were  fashioned  of  the  clay, 
The  seraphim  of  unconjectured  nights 

Shall  hear  stars  chanting  in  the  soul  of  man. 


THE  THIRST  OF  SATAN 

In  dream  I  saw  the  starry  disarray 

(That  battle-dust  of  matter's  endless  war) 
Astir  with  some  huge  passing,  and  afar 

Beheld  the  troubled  constellations  sway 

In  winds  of  insurrection  and  dismay, 

Till,  from  that  magnitude  whose  ages  are 
But  moments  in  the  cycle  of  the  star, 

There  swept  a  Shadow  on  our  ghost  of  day — 

A  Shape  that  clutched  the  deviating  earth 

And  checked  its  headlong  flight  and  held  it  fast, 

Draining  the  bitter  oceans  one  by  one. 
Then,  to  the  laughter  of  infernal  mirth, 

The  ruined  chalice  droned  athwart  the  Vast, 
Hurled  in  the  face  of  the  offended  sun. 


/ 


SCRUTINY 


(  Turn  thy  soul's  eye  on  all  the  forms  that  are 

And  thou  shalt  see  them  but  as  shade  and  form, 
Hiding  an  essence  fathomless.]  The  storm 

Of  atoms,  and  the  sun's  effulgent  car, 

Are  but  as  veils  and  an  uplifted  bar 

Between  thyself  and  verity.     The  warm, 
Assuring  day,  the  stars'  investing  swarm, 

Are  darkness,  and  the  mind  alone  a  star — 

An  orb  delivered  to  the  night,  and  fain 
To  test  the  paths  of  timelessness,  or  gain 
Some  dim  surmise  of  an  authentic  goal, — 

Some  rumor  from  the  council  of  its  lords, 
In  moments  when  the  unaccepted  soul 

Glimpses  the  far-off  splendor  of  their  swords. 


BALLAD  OF  TWO  SEAS 

"Wherefor  thy  woe  these  many  years, 

O  hermit  by  the  sea? 
What  is  the  grief  the  winds  awake, 
And  waters  cry  to  thee?" 

"It  was  in  piracy  we  sailed, 
Great  galleons  to  strip. 
On  a  far  day,  on  a  far  sea, 
We  took  her  father's  ship. 

Red-sided  rocked  the  Rey  del  Sur 

Whenas  its  deck  we  won. 
I  slew  before  her  eyes  divine 
Her  father  and  his  son. 


53 


BALLAD  OF   TWO  SEAS 

There  was  no  sin  I  had  not  sinned, 

On  deep  sea  and  ashore; 
But  when  I  looked  in  those  great  eyes 
Villain  was  I  no  more. 

I  captain  claimed  her  as  my  prize, 
Tho  maids  in  common  were. 

Alone  'mid  that  fell  company, 
I  cast  my  lot  with  her. 

They  put  us  in  an  open  boat 

With  seven  days'  food  and  drink; 

Then  slipped  those  traitor  topsails  down 
Beyond  the  ocean's  brink. 

Night  came,  and  morn,  but  rose  no  sail 

On  that  horizon-verge ; 
I  took  the  oars  and  set  our  prow 

Against  the  lessening  surge. 


54 


BALLAD  OF   TWO  SEAS 

It  was  scant  provender  we  had, 

Tho  she  was  unaware; 
Right  soon  I  feared,  and  by  deceit 

I  gave  her  all  my  share. 

She  would  not  speak;  she  scarce  would 
look; 

Her  pain  was  past  my  cure. 
Red-scuppered  in  our  hells  of  dream 

Wallowed  the  Rey  del  Snr. 

On  a  far  day,  on  a  far  sea, 

Our  shallop  southward  crept; 

With  aching  arms  and  splitten  lips 
I  labored — and  she  wept. 

Dawn  upon  dawn,  dark  upon  dark, 

Nor  ever  land  nor  wind ! 
The  nights  were  chill,  the  stars 
were  keen, 

The  sun  swung  hot  and  blind. 


55 


BALLAD  OF   TWO  SEAS 

Our  drink  and  food  long  since  were 
gone.  .   .   . 

We  laid  us  down  to  die.  .   .   . 
Then  came  a  booming  of  a  surf, 

And  palm-trees  met  mine  eye. 

I  steered  us  through  the  broken  reef; 

Fainting,  I  won  to  shore; 
I  gazed  upon  her  changed  face, 

But  she  on  mine  no  more. 

Below  the  palms  I  buried  her 
Whose  bale-star  I  had  been. 

And  since,  by  this  bleak  coast  of  snows, 
I  sorrow  for  my  sin. 

There  was  no  other  of  our  kind 
That  had  her  heavenly  face. 

On  a  far  Day,  by  a  far  Sea. 
I  trust  to  know  her  grace." 


BALLAD  OF  ST.  JOHN  OF  NEPOMUK 

Now  to  you  all  be  Christmas  cheer, 
Good  health  and  better  luck! 

Praise  now  the  womb  that  gave  to  men 
St.  John  of  Nepomuk! 

He  stood  before  King  Wenceslaus 
With  none  to  take  his  part — 

Despair  upon  his  kindly  face, 
But  honor  in  his  heart. 

uHow  now,  O  priest !"  the  monarch  cried, 
(And  death  was  in  his  smile)  : 

"Didst  shrive  the  faithless  soul  of  her 
Who  did  my  bed  defile? 


57 


BALLAD  OF  ST.  JOHN  OF  NEPOMUK 

"Didst  bid  her  go  in  peace  who  now 

Hath  left  no  peace  to  me? 
Tell  then  the  sin  that  thou  didst  shrive, 
E'en  as  she  told  it  thee!" 

"O  king!"  our  saint  unblenching  said, 

"Such  may  I  not  reveal, 
For  priesthood's  vow  upon  my  lips 
Hath  set  a  ghostly  seal. 

"That  seal  which  on  my  mouth  is  set 

Forever  and  for  aye, 
Thou  shalt  not  loose  by  mortal  pain 
Nor  wrench  with  racks  away." 

They  stretched  his  body  on  the  rack 
And  there  their  will  they  wrought; 

He  cried  in  his  woe  to  seven  saints, 
But  not  the  tale  they  sought. 


BALLAD  OF  ST.  JOHN  OF  NEPOMUK 

"Confess,"  the  king  in  fury  cried, 

"Her  love  as  it  befell, 
Or  steel  shall  cleave  thy  way  to  death 
And  fire  thy  path  to  Hell!" 

"O  king,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  speak, 

Tho  thou  in  tears  should  kneel; 
For  manhood's  honor  on  my  mouth 
Hath  set  a  mighty  seal. 

"And  that  seal  set  upon  my  mouth 
More  close  than  life  does  stay: 
Thou  canst  not  break  it  with  a  sword 
Nor  melt  with  fire  away." 

They  wrought  their  will  upon  his  flesh 
With  cursing  and  with  scoff.   .  .   . 

They  gagged  his  mouth  and  from  a  bridge 
At  last  they  flung  him  off. 


59 


BALLAD  OF  ST.  JOHN  OF  NEPOMUK 

They  cast  him  into  Moldau  stream, 

Our  saint  who  did  no  wrong; 
But  that  true  mouth  which  told  no  tale 

God  filleth  now  with  song. 

Wherefore  pray  thou  our  new-born  Lord, 

And  John  our  saint  as  well, 
That  when  a  fair  fame  thou  mightst  harm 

No  whisper  thou  shalt  tell. 

For  since  of  her  who  gave  him  naught 

He  would  not  cause  the  fall, 
How  knightlier  shalt  thou  guard  the  name 

Of  her  who  gives  thee  all ! 


THE  RACK 

In  Hell  a  voice  awoke, 
And  slowly  spoke. 

(Not  for  God's  vengeance  met, 
Not  for  my  torment-sweat, 
Not  for  these  agonies 
Break  I  our  silences: 
Behold  their  pain  excelled 
By  rapture  once  unheld. 

In  Earth's  benignest  land 
We  wandered  hand  in  hand. 
All  beauty  and  all  woe 
Were  her's  awhile  to  know; 
All    griefs  were  given  her, 
And  I  sole  comforter. 
Slowly  her  love  awoke 

61 


THE  RACK 

And  like  a  lily  broke ; 
But  ah!    to  me  more  dear 
The  roses  of  the  year, 
And  I  would  wander  far 
Below  the  crimson  star. 
Slow  as  the  jasmine  grows 
I  won  her  from  her  snows, 
Telling  with  word  and  deed 
My  hunger  and  her  need, 
Till,  all  the  stream  unbarred, 
Her  blood  flowed  passionward. 
Awhile  she  recked  of  shame, 
And  spoke  her  Saviour's  name; 
Awhile  her  saints  did  call, 
Then  promised  all. 

That  night  there  could  not  be 
The  Bliss  for  her  and  me ; 
But  soon  her  lord  must  go 
Beyond  the  flooded  Po; 

62 


THE  RACK 

And  soon,  in  steel  arrayed 
Went  forth  his  cavalcade; 
Then  turned  my  Sweet  to  me 
Telling  when  all  could  be — 
Ah !   God  of  hate !   who  heard 
Her  swiftly  spoken  word? 

'Mid  unseen  flowers  a-bloom 
We  came  across  the  gloom, 
But  in  that  garden-close 
WTas  dark,  O  Death !   thy  rose ; 
And  ere  mad  lips  caressed 
Or  breast  was  hurled  to  breast,- 
Ere  broke  her  last  appeal, 
I  felt  his  bravos'  steel — 
O  stealthy  hounds  that  crept 
Where  the  low  fountains  wept ! 

So  fell  the  eternal  night 
Upon  our  lost  delight, 

63 


THE  RACK 

i 

And  where  its  horror  lies 
I  think  of  Paradise; 
Yet  not  as  they  that  crave 
The  coolness  of  its  wave — 
Sweeter  than  all  therein 
The  sin  we  could  not  sin! 
Yea  !    tho  infernal  art 
Goad  the  remorseful  heart, 
Till  primacies  of  pain 
Within  this  bosom  reign, 
First  of  their  legion,  first, 
Is  that  unsated  thirst ! — 
The  pang  of  lips  unkissed, 
The  rack  of  raptures  missed! 

Then  on  that  fury  fell 
The  silences  of  Hell. 


WILLY  PITCHER 

Sharon,  Conn. 

He  is  forgotten  now, 

And  humble  dust  these  thirty  years  and  more — 
He  whose  young  eyes  and  beautiful  wide  brow 

My  thoughts  alone  restore. 

Dead,  and  his  kindred  dead ! 
And  none  remembers  in  that  quiet  place 
The  slender  form,  the  brown  and  faunlike  head, 

The  gently  wistful  face. 

And  yet  across  the  years 
I  see  us  roam  among  the  apple-trees, 
Telling  our  tale  of  boyish  hopes  and  fears 

Amid  the  hurried  bees. 


WILLY  PITCHER 

When  I  am  all  alone 
By  the  eternal  beauty  of  the  sea, 
Or  where  the  mountain's  eastern  shade  is  thrown, 

His  face  comes  back  to  me — 

A  memory  unsought, — 
A  ghost  entreating,  and  I  know  not  why, — 
A  presence  that  the  restless  winds  of  thought 
Acknowledge  with  a  sigh; 

Till  I  am  half  content 
Not  any  more  the  loneliness  to  know 
Of  him  who  died  so  young  and  innocent, 

And  ah !    so  long  ago ! 


66 


"BEYOND  THE  SUNSET" 

Ere  dawn  of  that  grey  hero  did  I  read — 

Hard  Ulysses,  whose  oars 
Followed  the  sunset  and  the  winds  that  lead 

Time's  galleys  to  the  shores 
Of  demigod  and  siren,  and  I  said: 

"Whose  was  the  Hand  that  led, 
And  in  what  faith  did  those  intrepid  men 

Fare  forth  on  waters  wide, 
Whose  western  foam  they  should  not  cross  again? 

What  hunger  and  what  pride 
Were  at  the  helm?    Surely  their  hearts  were  great 

And  deep  their  trust  in  Fate; 

For  they  went  not  as  we, 
Guarded  and  buttressed  from  the  hostile  sea. 

For  they  had  but  their  arms, 
A  width  of  oak,  and  stronger  thews  than  ours 


"BEYOND   THE  SUNSET" 

To  brave  the  ocean  powers 
And  all  the  deep's  mysterious  alarms. 
What  bulwark  walled  Ulysses  from  the  wave? 
What  engines  from  the  reef  and  tempest,  save 
The  piston  and  the  staunchions  of  his  heart? 

Aye !    and  a  thing  apart, 
A  thing  our  weaker  flesh  and  wiser  brains 
Have  lost,  or  slowly  lose — the  old-time  trust 
In  One  whose  angels  sway  the  hurricanes, 
And  whose  designs  make  swift  the  mortal  dust! 
They  had  the  gods,  but  sought  for  realms  unknown, 

But  we  have  overthrown 
Old  faiths  and  old  illusions — on  our  charts 

Each  isle  of  earth  is  shown, 
But  no  eternal  harbor  for  our  hearts." 

And  still  our  old  men  fare  into  the  West, 

And  still  the  timeless  quest 
Of  happiness  awaits  us,  and  we  go 

On  paths  they  did  not  know — 


68 


"BEYOND   THE  SUNSET9 

Those  men  whose  names  are  as  a  trumpet-blast 

From  out  the  armored  Past. 
To  them  the  deep  was  as  infinity, 

But  unto  us  the  sea 

Lies  sounded  and  familiar,  and  our  rule 
Is  over  empires  that  the  child  at  school 
Must  learn  by  name,  but  which  old  Ulysses 
Held  buried  in  his  faith's  wide  mysteries. 
Aye !    we  have  sought  and  found,  but  did  not  find 

Something  the  ancient  mind 
Found  greater  than  our  engines  and  our  charts — 

A  trust  that  old-world  hearts 
Found  equal  to  the  tempest  and  the  wave, — 

Something  the  western  wind 
Whispered  to  spirits  harborless  and  brave, 

And  sang  on  oceans  wide : 
"Fear  not,  for  I  the  god  am  at  thy  side !" 

And  now  as  men  go  forth 
To  islands  of  the  Orient  and  North, 


"BEYOND   THE  SUNSET' 

Fended  and  sheltered  from  the  sea's  alarms, 

Something  perhaps  they  lose — 

A  sense  of  mighty  Arms 

That  shield  and  shadow  and,  in  some  wise,  use 
Our  journeys  to  a  purpose  not  our  own. 
And  I  have  dreamt  I  heard  from  the  unknown 

A  voice  from  past  our  years, 

A  quiet  voice  that  saith: 
"Thou,  man,  dost  still  thy  fears, 
And  dare  the  sea's  broad  ways  of  toil  and  death 
And  put  thy  faith  in  keels  thy  strength  hath  planned 

And  charts  thy  captains  read. 

Yea,  the  great  deep  is  spanned 
And  all  earth's  forces  broken  to  thy  need : 

Me  only,  child  of  dust, 

Thou  wilt  no  longer  trust!" 


RESPITE 

Noon  has  her  drowsy  kingdom  in  the  sky. 
The  valley  holds  forever,  like  a  shell, 
An  ocean-murmur,  and  about  my  dell 

The  pines  wait  dreaming,  too  content  to  sigh. 

Silence  has  half  her  will,  nor  would  I  try 
Another's:    here  a  waif  unsought  I  dwell 
On  whom  a  rainbow-land  has  laid  her  spell,— 

In  whom  recorded  memories  fade  or  die. 

Linger,  O  day!    for  at  thy  heart  is  peace; 

Thine  azure  holds  no  question ;   ere  thou  cease, 
To  be  and  to  be  glad  is  to  have  done. 
Pause  in  the  breathless  temple  of  thy  noon, 
Ere  yet  I  drink  enchantment  from  the  moon 
And  watch  love's  star  above  the  sunken  sun ! 


KINDRED 

Musing,  between  the  sunset  and  the  dark, 
As  Twilight  in  unhesitating  hands 
Bore  from  the  faint  horizon's  underlands, 

Silvern  and  chill,  the  moon's  phantasmal  ark, 

I  heard  the  sea,  and  far  away  could  mark 
Where  that  unalterable  waste  expands 
In  sevenfold  sapphire  from  the  mournful  sands, 

And  saw  beyond  the  deep  a  vibrant  spark. 

There  sank  the  sun  Arcturus,  and  I  thought: 
Star,  by  an  ocean  on  a  world  of  thine, 

May  not  a  being,  born,  like  me,  to  die, 
Confront  a  little  the  eternal  Naught 
And  watch  our  isolated  sun  decline — 
Sad  for  his  evanescence,  even  as  I? 


72 


"THAT  WALK  IN  DARKNESS" 

Not  when  the  sun  is  captain  of  the  skies, 

Nor  when  the  sapphire-dwelling  moon  divine 
Arrows  with  light  the  battlements  of  pine, 

Roams  Lilith,  she  whom  raptures  have  made  wise; 

But  one  shall  see  her  with  enchanted  eyes 
When  starlight  makes  mysterious  her  shrine, 
That  whoso  drinks  her  beauty's  golden  wine 

Shall  lose  his  hope  and  need  of  Paradise. 

And  tho  the  cruel  vision  smite  him  blind, 

Yet  more  than  they  who  mourn  him  is  he  whole 
On  whom  her  sorceries  have  burst  in  flood, — 
To  whom  her  lips  are  offered,  that  he  find 
Her  kiss  a  consternation  to  the  soul 

And  scarlet  trumpets  pealing  in  the  blood. 


73 


IN  THE  MARKET-PLACE 
Rev.  xviii :    10-13. 

In  Babylon,  high  Babylon, 

What  gear  is  bought  and  sold? 

All  merchandise  beneath  the  sun 
That  bartered  is  for  gold : 

Amber  and  oils  from  far  beyond 
The  desert  and  the  fen, 

And  wines  whereof  our  throats  are  fond- 
Yea  !   and  the  souls  of  men ! 

In  Babylon,  grey  Babylon, 

What  goods  are  sold  and  bought? 
Vesture  of  linen  subtly  spun, 

And  cups  from  agate  wrought; 
Raiment  of  many-colored  silk 

For  some  fair  denizen, 
And  ivory  more  white  than  milk — 

Yea  !    and  the  souls  of  men ! 


74 


IN  THE  MARKET-PLACE 

In  Babylon,  old  Babylon, 

What  cargoes  on  the  piers? 
Pearls  from  a  tepid  ocean  won, 

And  gems  that  are  as  tears; 
Arrows  and  javelins  that  prevail 

Against  the  lion's  den, 
And  brazen  chariots  and  mail — 

Yea  !    and  the  souls  of  men ! 

In  Babylon,  mad  Babylon, 

What  get  you  for  your  pence? 

A  moiety  of  cinnamon,  ^ 
Of  flour  and  f ra'hkincense ; 

But  let  the  shekels  in  your  keep 
Be  multiplied  by  ten, 

And  you  shall  purchase  slaves  and  sheep- 
Yea  !    and  the  souls  of  men ! 

In  Babylon,  sad  Babylon, 
What  chattels  shall  invite? 


75 


IN  THE  MARKET-PLACE 

A  wife  whenas  your  youth  is  done, 

Or  leman  for  a  night. 
Before  Astarte's  portico 

The  torches  flare  again; 
The  shadows  come,  the  shadows  go — 

Yea  !    and  the  souls  of  men ! 

In  Babylon,  dark  Babylon, 

Who  take  the  wage  of  shame? 
The  scribe  and  singer,  one  by  one, 

That  toil  for  gold  and  fame. 
They  grovel  to  their  masters'  mood; 

The  blood  upon  the  pen 
Assigns  their  souls  to  servitude — 

Yea!    and  the  souls  of  men! 


THE  PALETTE 

Here  in  a  marshy  spot  that  the  rains  have  fed, 
The  red-winged  blackbirds  have  built  them  a  cup- 
shaped  nest, 
Hid  in  a  dark-green  tussock's  grassy  head, 

That  sways  an  inch  in  the  little  winds  from  the 
west. 

Four  are  the  pale-blue  eggs  on  whose  rondure  lies 
A  circle  of  dots  and  scrawls  of  the  ancient  ink 

That  never  has  flowed  from  a  pen — O  rune  that  cries 
More,  perhaps,  than  we  in  our  wisdom  think ! 

And  the  Power  that  fashioned  there  the  smallest  dot 
Is  the  one  that  sows  earth's  jewel-dust  of  flow'rs, 

And  lifts  the  dawn  where  the  courts  of  hue  were  not, 
And  the  sunset  glow  for  an  end  of  the  turquoise 
hours. 


77 


THE  PALETTE 

Seas  and  forests  have  made  a  gem  of  earth. 

Seek  thine  opal  where  foaming  rivers  laugh 
To  the  flowers  that  have  their  part  in  the  waters' 
mirth. 

Here,  O  child !   is  the  rainbow's  buried  half. 

* 
Unheard,  unseen,  the  eternal  Alchemist 

Wakes  the  colors  that  slumber  deep  in  their  darks. 
O  myriad  hues !   and  each  one  true  to  its  tryst — 
The  gold  of  Arcturus'  breast  and  that  of  the  lark's. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  DIAN 

In  the  silence  of  a  midnight  lost,  lost  forevermore, 
I  stood  upon  a  nameless  beach  where  none  had  been 

before, 
And  red  gold  and  yellow  gold  were  the  shells  upon 

that  shore. 

Lone,  lone  it  was  as  a  mist-enfolded  strand 
Set  round  a  lake  where  marble  demons  stand — 
Held  like  a  sapphire-stone  in  Thibet's  monstrous 
hand. 

And  there  I  beheld  how  One  stood  in  her  grace 
To  hold  to  the  stars  her  wet  and  faery  face, 
And  on  the  smooth  and  haunted  sands  her  footfall 
had  no  trace. 


79 


THE  HUNTING  OF  DUN 

White,  white  was  she  as  the  youngest  seraph's  word, 
Or  milk  of  Eden's  kine  or  Eden's  fragrant  curd, 
Cast  in  love  by  Eve's  wan  hand  to  her  most  snowy 
bird. 

Fair,  fair  was  she  as  Venus  of  the  sky, 

And  the  jasmine  of  her  breast  and  starlight  of  her 

eye 
Made  the  heart  a  pain  and  the  soul  a  hopeless  sigh. 

Weak  with  the  sight  I  leaned  upon  my  sword, 

Till  my  soul  that  had  sighed  was  become  an  unseen 

chord 

For  stress  of  music  rendered  to  unknown  things 
adored. 

Surely  she  heard,  but  her  beauty  gave  no  sign 
To  me  for  whom  the  hushed  sea  was  odorous  as 

wine, — 
To  me  for  whom  the  voiceless  world  was  made  her 

silent  shrine. 


80 


THE  HUNTING  OF  DIAN 

And  she  sent  forth  her  gaze  to  the  waters  of  the 

West, 
And  she  sent  forth  her  soul  to  the  Islands  of  the 

Blest, 
Below  a  star  whose  silver  throes  set  pearls  upon  her 

breast. 

But  chill  in  the  East  brake  a  glory  on  the  lands, 
And  she  moaned  like  some  low  wave  that  dies  on 

frozen  sands, 
And  held  to  her  sea-lover  her  sweet  and  cruel  hands. 

Then  rose  the  moon,  and  its  lance  was  in  her  side, 
And  there  was  bitter  music  because  in  woe  she  cried, 
Ere  on  the  hard  and  gleaming  beach  she  laid  her 
down  and  died. 

I  leapt  to  her  succor,  my  sword  I  left  behind; 

But  one  low  mound  of  opal  foam  was  all  that  I  could 

find- 
A  moon-washed  length  of  airy  gems  that  trembled  in 

the  wind. 


81 


THE  HUNTING  OF  DIAN 

I  knelt  below  the  stars;   the  sea  put  forth  a  wave; 
The  moon  drew  up  the  captive  tides  upon  her  shining 

grave, 
As  far  away  I  heard  the  cry  her  dim  sea-lover  gave. 


82 


A  WINTER  DAWN 

Untouched  by  crimson  or  by  gold, 
Its  pure  and  fleeting  marble  rose 
Beyond  the  wall  of  eastern  snows  — 

Ethereal,  Pentelic,  cold. 

Its  fragile  towers  were  high  and  thin, 
Symbol  of  beauty  passionless, 
Of  all  inviolate  loveliness; 

And  not  of  earth  the  pearl  therein — 

The  pearl  too  precious  to  endure, 

Seen  where  the  heavens'  ghostly  shell 
Holds  in  its  vast  and  sapphire  cell 

A  nacre  infinitely  pure. 

So  the  marmorean  glory  bleak 

Spoke  of  the  snows  of  Beauty's  home; 

Then  that  blue  sea  withdrew  its  foam, 
And  we  that  witnessed  could  not  speak. 


A  WINTER  SUNSET 

There  seems  no  wind  in  all  the  land. 

Austere  against  the  fading  light 
I  see  a  lonely  cypress  stand, 

As  carved  from  steel  and  malachite. 

Beyond,  a  single  sea-bird  flies 
To  gain  its  far  and  craggy  home 

Below  the  lemon-colored  skies — 
An  ocean-islet  ringed  with  foam. 

In  all  the  land  there  seems  no  stir 
Save  that  of  pinions  westward  flown. 

Glad  weather,  fellow  traveler ! 
To-night  I  also  fare  alone. 


FORENOON  BY  THE  PACIFIC 

The  winds  are  far  away; 

The  sea  alone  hath  speech. 

The  killdees  play 

In  little  hollows  of  the  kelp-strewn  beach. 
Beyond,  a  wisp  of  fog  has  come  to  rest 

Upon  the  mountain's  breast. 

Here  from  a  western  steep 

I  watch  the  sea-gull  soar; 

Below,  the  deep 

Darts  a  white  chord  along  the  curving  shore 
And  brims  the  day  with  thunder.     At  my  feet 

The  unshaken  dews  are  sweet. 

The  hour  is  full  of  peace 

Too  tenderly  profound 

To  fail  or  cease 

At  any  call  of  lark,  or  ocean-sound. 
Where  lonely  waters  meet  a  loner  sky 

The  winds  of  morning  die. 

85 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  DOVE 

Soft  from  the  linden's  bough, 
Unmoved  against  the  tranquil  afternoon, 

Eve's  dove  laments  her  now : 
"Ah,  gone!   long  gone!   shall  not  I  find  thee  soon?" 

That  yearning  in  his  voice 
Told  not  to  Paradise  a  sorrow's  tale : 

As  other  birds  rejoice 
He  sang,  a  brother  to  the  nightingale. 

By  twilight  on  her  breast 
He  saw  the  flower  sleep,  the  star  awake; 

And  calling  her  from  rest, 
Made  all  the  dawn  melodious  for  her  sake. 


86 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  DOVE 

And  then  the  Tempter's  breath, 
The  sword  of  exile  and  the  mortal  chain — 

The  heritage  of  death 
That  gave  her  heart  to  dust,  his  own  to  pain.  .  .  . 

In  Eden  desolate 
The  seraph  heard  his  lonely  music  swoon, 

As  now,  reiterate : 
'Ah,  gone!   long  gone!    shall  not  I  find  thee  soon?" 


SAID  THE  WIND: 

I  and  my  brothers  are  ocean-born, 

And  the  dusk-blue  reaches  were  our  home. 
Joyous,  hardly  old  as  the  foam, 

There  we  ran  on  a  crystal  morn. 

North  and  south  we  swung  in  our  play, 
Life  and  laugh  of  the  world's  unrest. 
I,  deserting,  fled  to  the  west, 

Swift  and  strong  on  the  path  of  the  day. 

Day  was  victor  in  that  mad  flight — 
Gone  with  a  step  from  the  sea  to  land. 
There,  like  stars  upcast  on  the  strand, 

A  city  blazed  on  the  fallen  night. 


88 


SAID   THE  WIND 

Thither  drawn,  I  crept  in  its  maze — 
Trapped  and  bound  in  a  tainted  pit, 
Sickened  in  caverns  crimson-lit, 

Blind  and  weak  in  a  fevered  haze. 

Pride  and  hate  and  folly  and  death, 
Hunger,  madness,  squalor  and  pain, 
Toil  forever  the  slave  of  Gain, 

Sin  that  clung  to  its  bitter  breath — 


Those  I  saw  in  chamber  and  street, 
Saw  blind  man  in  his  midnight  go, 
Ant  in  his  joy  and  giant  in  woe, 

Reaping  harvests  that  Night  should  eat. 

Such  I  saw  ere  my  wings  won  free, 

And  I  fled  forth  to  pasture  and  wood; 
Orchard  and  meadow,  I  find  them  good; 

Lake  and  river  are  as  the  sea. 


SAID  THE  WIND 

Give  me  thy  coolness,  grass  o'  the  sward ! 

Lend  me  your  fragrance,  apple  and  rose ! 

I  have  been  where  the  death-flower  blows; 
I  have  stood  where  Sorrow  is  lord. 

I  will  cleanse  me  now  in  the  grove, 
Slay  my  taint  with  a  million  leaves. 
Summer  comes  with  her  elfin  eves; 

Here  will  I  slumber,  wake  and  rove. 


THE  MISSION  SWALLOWS 

When  the  mating-time  of  the  lark  is  near 

And  down  in  the  meadow  the  blackbirds  swing, 

They  come  with  the  music  and  youth  of  the  year, 
Sure  as  the  blossoms'  tryst  with  spring. 

When  willow  and  alder  don  their  leaves, 
Up  from  the  cloudy  south  they  fare, 

To  flit  all  day  by  the  Mission  eaves 

And  build  their  nests  in  the  shadow  there. 

O'er  field  and  meadow,  a  restless  throng, 
They  dart  and  swoop  till  the  west  is  red, 

Swift  of  wing  and  chary  of  song, 

That  the  eggs  be  hatched  and  the  nestlings  fed. 

Serra  sleeps  within  sound  of  the  sea, 

And  the  flock  he  fathered  is  long  since  still. 

Over  their  graves  the  wild,  brown  bee 
Prowls,  and  the  quail  calls  over  the  hill. 


THE  MISSION  SWALLOWS 

Serra  is  dust  for  a  hundred  years. 

Dust  are  the  ladies  and  lords  of  Spain — 
Safe  from  sorrow  and  change  and  tears, 

Where  the  grass  is  clean  with  the  springtide  rain. 

Meekly  they  slumber,  side  by  side, 

Cross  and  sword  to  the  furrow  cast, 
Done  forever  with  love  and  pride, 

And  sleep,  as  ever,  the  best  at  last. 

But  over  the  walls  that  the  padres  laid, 

The  circling  swallows  come  and  go, 
Still  by  the  seasons  undismayed, 

Or  the  storms  above  or  the  dead  below. 


Carmel,  California. 


92 


"OMNIA  EXEUNT  IN  MYSTERIUM" 

I 

The  stranger  in  my  gates — lo !  that  am  I, 
And  what  my  land  of  birth  I  do  not  know, 
Nor  yet  the  hidden  land  to  which  I  go. 

One  may  be  lord  of  many  ere  he  die, 

And  tell  of  many  sorrows  in  one  sigh, 

But  know  himself  he  shall  not,  nor  his  woe, 
Nor  to  what  sea  the  tears  of  wisdom  flow, 

Nor  why  one  star  is  taken  from  the  sky. 

An  urging  is  upon  him  evermore, 

And  tho  he  bide,  his  soul  is  wanderer, 

Scanning  the  shadows  with  a  sense  of  haste 
Where  fade  the  tracks  of  all  who  went  before — 
A  dim  and  solitary  traveller 

Qn  ways  that  end  in  evening  and  the  waste 


93 


'OMNIA    EXEUNT  IN  MYSTERIUM" 


II 

How  dumb  the  vanished  billions  who  have  died 
With  backward  gaze  conjectural  we  wait, 
And  ere  the  invading  Shadow  penetrate, 

The  echo  from  a  mighty  heart  that  cried 

Is  made  a  sole  memorial  to  pride. 

From  out  that  night's  inscrutable  estate 
A  few  cold  voices  wander,  desolate 

With  all  that  love  has  lost  or  grief  has  sighed. 

Slaves,  seamen,  captains,  councillors  and  kings, 
Gone  utterly,  save  for  those  echoes  far! 

As  they  before,  I  tread  a  forfeit  land, 
Till  the  supreme  and  ancient  silence  flings 
Its  pall  between  the  dreamer  and  the  star. 
O  desert  wide !   O  little  grain  of  sand ! 


94 


"OMNI A  EXEUNT  IN  MYSTERIUM' 


III 


As  one  that  knew  not  of  the  sea  might  come 
From  slender  sources  of  a  mountain  stream, 
And,  wending  where  the  sandy  shallows  gleam 
And  boulder-strewn  the  stumbling  waters  hum 
And  white  with  haste  the  falling  torrents  drum, 
Might  stand  in  darkness  at  the  land's  extreme 
And  stare  in  doubt,  where,  ghostly  and  supreme, 
Muffled  in  mist  and  night,  the  sea  lay  dumb, — 
So  shalt  thou  follow  life,  a  downward  fill 
A-babble  as  with  question  and  surmise, 

To  wait  at  last  where  no  star  beaconeth, 
And  find  the  midnight  desolate  and  chill, 
And  face  below  its  indecisive  skies 

The  Consummation,  mystery  and  death. 


95 


"ON  A  WESTERN  BEACH" 

Far  out,  hulls  down,  the  ships  go  by ; 

North,  south,  they  pass,  by  night  or  day ; 
There,  where  the  ocean  meets  the  sky, 

The  canvas  gleams,  the  tall  masts  sway. 

Intrepid,  whose  adventure  finds 

No  lasting  peace  for  sail  or  prow — 

Unto  what  oceans  and  what  winds, 
O  stranger  ship,  advancest  thou? 

The  tempest  and  the  night  descend 
In  which  no  truthful  star  may  warn; 

There  waits  no  beacon  to  befriend 

Where  southward  looms  the  bitter  Horn 


"ON  A  WESTERN  BEACH" 

But  will  is  at  the  guarded  wheel, — 
Decision  at  the  managed  sail, 

To  hurl  the  javelin  of  thy  keel 
Against  the  billow  and  the  gale. 

The  tides  and  winds  on  that  design 
Converge,  indifferent  at  best; 

The  fog's  invasion  blots  the  sign, 
Slow  sinking  in  the  midnight  west. 

Thou  sailest  by  another  Star — 
A  solemn  and  unsetting  Fire — 

That  sun  of  purpose,  high  and  far, 
To  which  intrepid  hearts  aspire. 


97 


THEN  AND  NOW 

Beyond  the  desolate  expanse  of  plain 
The  sunset  like  a  fiery  menace  glowed. 
The  bones  of  brutes,  along  the  uncertain  road, 

Were  half  a  year  unvisited  of  rain. 

A  woman  dug  within  the  river-bed, 

Eager  to  know  if  water  could  be  found. 

Her  breathing  filled  the  space  with  weary  sound; 

On  those  gaunt  arms  and  face  the  light  lay  red. 

The  turbid  water  gathered  in  the  hole. 

Pausing,  she  watched  the  west  with  steady  stare. .  .  . 

Impatiently  the  oxen  sniffed  the  air, 
Tethered  and  tired  beside  the  wagon-pole. 

Above,  a  hungry  child  began  to  push 

Aside  the  canvas  of  their  prairie-van; 

Near  the  low  bank  a  grim,  impatient  man 
Tugged,  grunting,  at  a  thick  and  withered  bush. 


THEN  AND  NOW 

It  snapped.     He  rolled,  then  rose  with  angry  face. 
The  woman  stood  with  gnarly  hands  on  hips, 
As  broke  in  epic  music  from  her  lips 

The  swift,  unsparing  laughter  of  the  race. 


Beyond  the  fenced  and  many-pastured  plain 
The  sunset  rose  like  minarets  of  dream. 
The  bridge  across  the  summer-wasted  stream 

Roared  with  the  passing  of  the  splendid  train. 

And  from  a  shining  car  whose  inmates  quaffed 
Their  jewelled  wines,  a  girl  with  ivory  hands 
Gazed  forth,  nor  knew  that  on  those  very  sands, 

One  sunset-time,  her  mother's  mother  laughed. 

Eastward  she  hastened  to  the  roofs  of  kings, 
Her  each  desire  accorded  ere  't  was  felt — 
She  who  had  never  toiled  nor  borne  nor  knelt, 

She,  tired  of  life  and  love  and  human  things. 


99 


MENACE 


Said  the  Sea:    "The  mountains  stand 
Far  and  haughty.     Rise,  O  wind! 
On  their  summits  you  shall  find 

Chords  to  master,  harps  to  cry  mine  ancient  message 
to  the  land." 

Woke  the  sea-wind  swift  and  strong, 
Lifting  pinions  broad  and  sure 
Where  untrodden  sands  lay  pure, — 
Hurling  eastward  in  his  passion  with  the  undelivered 
song. 

Then  upon  the  scornful  height 
Rose  his  bidden  voice  divine 
From  the  organ-breasted  pine — 
Singing  of  his  master's  empire  and  his  slow  and 
patient  might. 


100 


MENACE 


"He  will  come,  O  shafts  of  stone! 

Granite  ramparts,  he  will  come! 
In  a  little  I  am  dumb, 

But  my  captain's  purpose  fails  not,  tho  his  ends  re 
main  unknown. 

Like  a  mist  the  pines  shall  pass, 
For  the  seasons  of  the  rock 
Are  but  seconds  of  Time's  clock, 
And  the  towers  you  lift  shall  vanish  like  a  shadow 
on  the  grass. 

You  shall  crumble  slowly  down 

With  the  rain  at  chink  and  flaw; 
At  your  throne  a  Worm  will  gnaw, 
And  the  truceless  deep,  advancing,  will  reach  upward 
for  your  crown. 

He  will  thunder  at  your  wall 

Till  you  bend  your  knees  to  him, 


101 


MENACE 

And  in  ages  far  and  dim 

He  will  sap  your  deep  foundations  and  your  battle 
ments  shall  fall. 

Tho  the  time  be  far  away, 
He  is  patient,  he  is  vast, 
And  the  year  shall  come  at  last 

When  his  waves  on  gulfs  uncharted  roll  between  you 
and  the  day." 

Then  the  song  and  sigh  were  done, 
And  the  messenger  fell  dead 
Where  the  eagle's  young  are  fed 
And  at  bay  the  stubborn  mountains  gaze  in  silence  on 
the  sun. 


102 


THE  SECRET  ROOM 

No  sun  therein,  no  beam  of  star, 

Hath  use  a  little  in  its  air; 
No  hand  hath  found  the  hidden  bar, 

Nor  footfall  hurt  the  silence  there. 

The  room  is  lost,  the  door  is  sealed, 
The  sword  upon  the  wall  is  rust; 

The  rayless  lamp  hangs  unrevealed 
To  midnight  and  the  accepted  dust. 

No  hand  remains  that  holds  the  key, 
Nor  is  there  any  sign  to  tell 

Who  dreamt  therein  what  could  not  be, 
Nor  what  the  exiled  dream  befell ; 

Save  that  a  dead  rose  evermore 

Is  parted  from  the  twilight's  tears — 

Whose  petals  on  the  estranging  floor 
Grow  dimmer  with  the  tacit  years. 

103 


PAST  THE  PANES 

When  I  was  ill,  from  my  low  bed 
I  gazed  the  little  window  through 
And  saw  a  scanty  patch  of  blue, 

Part  of  the  great  sky  overhead. 

And  now,  grown  strong,  I  climb  the  hill, 
And  from  my  seat  so  lone  and  high 
I  see  the  wide,  majestic  sky, 

And  feel  the  winds,  and  look  my  fill. 

But  all  the  clouds  of  that  cool  dome, 
And  all  its  turquoise  far  but  clear, 
Are  not  so  wonderful  and  dear 

As  that  blue  space  I  watched  at  home. 

O  strange  !   that  humble  things  should  be 

Of  stature  more  than  mountains  are, — 

ji 
The  grass  diviner  than  the  star, —  xv* 

v* 
A  tear-drop  deeper  than  the  sea !  «  * 

104 


FROM  THE  MOUNTAIN 

Let  us  go  home  with  the  sunset  on  our  faces — 

We  that  went  forth  at  morn, 
To  follow  on  the  wind's  auroral  paces, 

And  find  the  desert  bourn 
The  frontier  of  our  hope  and  Heaven's  scorn. 

Let  us  go  home  with  the  sunset  on  our  faces — 

We  that  have  wandered  far 
And  stood  by  noon  in  high,  disastrous  places, 

And  known  what  mountains  are 
Between  those  eyries  and  the  morning  star. 

Let  us  go  home  with  the  sunset  on  our  faces : 

Altho  we  have  not  found 
The  pathway  to  the  inviolable  spaces, 

We  see  from  holy  ground 
An  ocean  far  below  without  a  sound. 


105 


DISCORD 

Where  needles  of  the  pine  were  strewn, 
I  lay  one  autumn  night  at  ease, 

And  saw  the  slowly  rising  moon, 
A  golden  thistle  through  the  trees. 

And  there  a  stream  departing  broke 
The  forest-silence  grave  and  deep, 

In  murmurs  like  a  wind  that  woke, 
Or  children  restless  in  their  sleep. 

The  year's  first  sigh  was  on  the  air, 
And  acquiescent  to  its  grief, 

My  heart  seemed  sad  enough  to  spare 
Regret  for  every  fallen  leaf. 


1 06 


DISCORD 

Ah !    soft  my  mood  and  meet  for  tears, 
As  wanton  Nature  in  her  whim 

Made  Earth  a  sister  to  the  spheres 
And  garden  of  the  seraphim. 

And  then,  the  soundless  waft  of  wings ! 

And  on  a  barren  branch  above, 
An  owl,  the  gnome  of  feathered  things, 

Broke  at  a  glance  my  dream  of  love. 

Poor  thrush  that  sang  as  daylight  fled! 

So  songless  now,  so  mutely  meek ! 
Lo !   the  squat  fury  bent  his  head, 

And  tore  her  breast  with  avid  beak ! 


107 


LINEAGE 

As  sound  is  not,  except  an  ear  apprise, 

Nor  light,  save  when  recording  eyes  attend, 
So  in  the  mind  hath  beauty  birth  and  end, 

Nor  station  in  Time's  aspect  otherwise. 

Between  thy  brows  are  Music's  farthest  skies, 
And  from  thy  seats  of  dream  her  wings  ascend. 
No  fragrance  is,  unless  thy  spirit  lend, 

And  of  thyself  the  morning  hath  its  dyes. 

Now  blooms  the  mystic   flower:  what  Hand  hath 

sown  ? 

Now  gleam  its  iris-hues :   what  Breath  hath  blown 
The  bubble  beauty  risen  from  thy  brain, 

And  as  a  mirror  evident  of  thee? 
Gaze :  let  the  glass  distort  thy  dust  in  vain ! 
Behold  thyself — thyself  a  mystery ! 


TO  ONE  SELF-SLAIN 

The  door  thou  chosest,  gave  it  on  the  night? 
Ever  we  ask  of  whoso  openeth 
If  day  or  darkness  hold  the  seats  of  Death; 
But  if  the  heavy-lidded  dead  have  sight 
Their  mouths  are  loyal  to  that  alien  light: 
Amid  the  Innumerable  no  one  saith 
What  waited  on  the  passing  of  the  breath- 
Spend  not  your  own :   the  grave  will  not  requite. 

Phantoms  and  whispers  reach  us  from  the  dark — 
Mirages  vain,  mendacities  august 

That  are  but  of  the  living,  not  the  dead. 
Nay !  tho  I  hunger,  I  in  no  wise  hark 

The  fleeting  music  scattered  with  thy  dust, 

Nor  call  thy  shadow  from  the  House  of  Dread. 


109 


NIGHT  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN 

The  fog  has  risen  from  the  sea  and  crowned 
The  dark,  untrodden  summits  of  the  coast, 
Where  roams  a  voice,  in  canyons  uttermost, 

From  midnight  waters  vibrant  and  profound. 

High  on  each  granite  altar  dies  the  sound, 
Deep  as  the  trampling  of  an  armored  host, 
Lone  as  the  lamentation  of  a  ghost, 

Sad  as  the  diapason  of  the  drowned. 

The  mountain  seems  no  more  a  soulless  thing, 
But  rather  as  a  shape  of  ancient  fear, 

In  darkness  and  the  winds  of  Chaos  born 
Amid  the  lordless  heavens'  thundering — 

A  Presence  crouched,  enormous  and  austere, 
Before  whose  feet  the  mighty  waters  mourn. 


no 


THE  ABANDONED  FARM 

The  moon  was  large  across  the  hills 
Amid  whose  fields  I  wandered  lost, 

And  cold  her  pearl  upon  the  rills — 
From  wave  to  wave  in  music  tost. 

Far  in  among  untended  slopes, 
Vacant  of  trees,  the  valley  wound. 

I  saw  no  light  to  raise  my  hopes, 

Nor  heard,  save  of  the  stream,  a  sound. 

A  voiceless  region,  weird  and  bare, 

Whose  roads  were  held  by  briar  and  weed, 

Covert  for  mouse  and  aspen  hare 
When  the  red  hawk  and  owlet  feed. 


in 


THE  ABANDONED  FARM 

And  then,  a  house !    So  still  it  lay ! 

Still  as  the  moon  that  overhead 
In  silence  took  her  crystal  way. 

A  house  can  die,  like  men,  'tis  said; 

And  this  lay  dead  and  desolate. 

How  tell  the  pathos  of  the  scene — 
The  hush  of  things  inanimate, 

The  moonlight,  sad,  immense,  serene? 

What  should  I  term  it,  house  or  tomb  ? 

Now  all  was  over.    Now  the  dust 
Lay  thick  in  each  deserted  room. 

The  latch  was  given  to  the  rust. 

Sere  on  the  threshold  lay  the  leaves; 

Hopeless  and  blank  the  windows  stared, 
Like  eyes  of  one  who  sits  and  grieves 

In  hours  remorseful  and  unshared. 


112 


THE  ABANDONED  FARM 

In  what  near  night  or  distant  dawn 

Were  now  the  dwellers  ?  Lived  they  still, 

They  who  so  many  times  had  drawn 
Before  the  hearthstone  or  the  sill  ? 

Lived  it  in  other  hearts,  that  home  ? — 

Remembered  very  far  away, 
Where  snowy  plains,  or  whiter  foam, 

Or  tropic  cities  knew  the  day. 

Still  hung  the  frozen  moon  above 

The  roof  where  song  and  tears  had  been,- 

Where  birth  and  death  and  toil  and  love 
Had  once  their  ancient  way  with  men. 

Chill  and  forlorn  the  wintry  gleam 
Of  moonlight  flooding  all  the  space. 

The  age-long  murmur  of  the  stream 
Made  lonelier  the  hour  and  place. 


TO  H.  G.  WELLS 

(With  "The  House  of  Orchids") 

Here  in  this  emerald  inlet,  with  the  blue  Pacific  to 

westward, 
A  tiny  nautilus  rides,  and  there !  and  there !  are  twain 

others, 
Drifting  in  to  the  beach,  where  the  lessened  wave  is 

broken 
On    clear    chalcedony   pebbles    and    gleams    of    the 

haliotis. 
But  there,  afar  on  the  sky-line,  are  ships  that  pass  to 

the  Islands, 
Under  the  sun  and  moon,  with  the  salt  of  the  sea  on 

their  cordage. 
Staunch  and  patient  and  happy,  with  pilot  stars  on 

their  pathway, 

Wise  of  the  gales  they  fare,  to  men  of  another  plow 
ing.  .  .  . 


114 


TO  H.  G.  WELLS 

Symbol,  those  and  these,  of  Time's  wide  sea  and  our 

dreamings, — 
Of  me  with  foam  in  my  hands,  and  you  with  the 

human  rubies. 
Yet,  look  once  at  my  bubbles,  for  I  keep  your  gems 

in  my  bosom ; 
And  soon  we   are  sand  of  the  beach — a  little,   O 

friend!  but  a  little, 
Ere  my  nautilus  touch  the  shore,  and  your  sails  are 

below  the  horizon. 


CAELI  ENARRANT 

Oh !  marvellous  the  skies 

Ere  sunset  close 
Its  rich,  enormous  rose, 

Or  dawn,  too  late, 
Seem  a  supernal  gate 
That  opens  into  midmost  Paradise ! 

And  yet  more  fair  and  strange 

The  silent  dome 
Of  midnight's  vigilled  home, 

Where  star  and  star 
The  silent  sentries  are 
Of  ramparts  built  beyond  the  reach  of  change, 


116 


CAELI  EN  ARRANT 

A  thousand  years  from  hence 

Could  I  again 
Within  the  House  of  Pain 

Stand  forth  and  see, 
Their  solemn  legionry 
Were  stationed  in  the  Vast's  circumference. 

In  governed  ranks  unstirred 

Shall  they  abide, 
In  panoply  and  pride 

Of  guarding  flame — 
The  watchword  still  the  same 
And  changeless  still  their  battle-song  unheard, 

But  man  how  changed,  I  dream ! 

At  last,  at  last, 
Made  wiser  by  the  past, 

Shall  not  he  cease 
From  deeds  that  mar  his  peace, 
And  human  Brotherhood  be  found  supreme? 


117 


CAELI  ENARRANT 

Shall  not  the  nations  laugh, 

And  in  their  joy 
War's  crimson  fane  destroy, 

And  love  assoil 
The  darker  stains  of  toil — 
Burning  dead  laws  and  sophistries  like  chaff? 

Oh !  by  the  years  made  wise, 

Let  man  forego 
Joy  from  his  brother's  woe, 

Till  o'er  the  mirth 
Of  our  transfigured  earth 
The  stars  shall  beam  as  once  o'er  Paradise ! 


118 


"YOU  NEVER  CAN  TELL" 

Spindrift  and  bilge  and  the  world  turns  over! 

What  is  the  dross  and  what  the  gold? 
The  snake  and  the  lark  ha'  nests  in  the  clover, 

And  which  is  best  when  the  tale  is  told? 

Thrice  I  sinned — oh !  the  heavens'  joyance ! 

Breasts  angelic  shook  wi'  the  joke; 
Once  did  good — oh !  earth's  annoyance ! 

Hell  to  pay  and  the  bank  gone  broke ! 

James  drank  poison  at  love's  derision ; 

John  swigged  ale  and  swank  in  the  sun, 
Throve,  and  came  to  a  dark  decision, 

And,  "Christ !  that  I  were  the  other  one !" 


119 


"YOU  NEFER   CAN   TELL" 

Seth  in  the  swamp  and  Dan  on  the  mountain- 
Either  dreamt  that  he  chose  his  times : 

Dan  bent  young  to  a  fevered  fountain; 
Seth  grew  old  by  the  older  slimes. 

The  stolen  dollar  in  Larry's  pocket 
Turned  a  bullet  to  Harry's  side — 

It  missed  by  a  hair  his  mother's  locket : 
The  thief  lives  yet  and  the  good  man  died. 

Justice !   Justice !  where  is  thy  palace, 
Hope  o'  the  planet's  dark  romance? 

Whose  is  the  blood  in  thy  broken  chalice, 
Slave  o'  chance?    But  there  is  no  chance! 


120 


DAWN  FROM  A  WESTERN  MOUNTAIN 

'Twas  but  a  breath  ago  when  ceast 
The  vibrant  moon-flame  on  the  sea, 
And  now  the  starry  chariots  flee 

And  splendors  flood  the  silent  east. 

Now,  as  their  wings  uplifted  gleam 

Where  sank  the  standards  of  the  night, 
The  seven  seraphim  of  light 

Bear  witness  to  the  Light  supreme. 

O  solemn  glories !     Rose  of  fire 
And  lilies  of  celestial  gold 
Their  hands  shall  gather  and  withhold 

To  strew  upon  the  sunset-pyre ! 


121 


DAWN  FROM  A  WESTERN  MOUNTAIN 

What  service  lies  upon  the  ray ! 

Now  seem  the  skies  the  home  of  God 
And  earth  the  Garden  where  He  trod, 

Familiar,  in  the  cool  of  day. 

O  lone  and  still !     Yet  far  below 

The  plush  of  meadows  zoned  by  dawn 
Is  trodden  by  the  spotted  fawn, 

And  birds  are  happy  there,  I  know. 

\^ 

Beauty  seems  all  our  eyes  may  scan ; 

Yet  far  away,  within  those  walls 
Where  now  the  blessed  sunlight  falls, 
They  hang  this  hour  a  fellow-man. 


122 


THE  SETTING 

How  vast  and  marvellous  a  stage  was  set, 
Man,  for  thy  drama !    Who  the  play  begot 
And  whether  it  be  tragedy  or  not, 

Ending  in  darkness,  we  may  know  not  yet, 

Nor  whether,  on  the  heavenly  parapet, 
An  Audience  be  mindful  of  the  plot — 
Sure  at  the  last  to  hasten  from  the  spot 

With  laughter,  or  with  eyes  thy  fate  hath  wet. 

Nathless  immensities  attend  thy  way, 

Whether  it  lead  to  rapture,  sleep  or  woe : 

The  mountains  and  the  sun  await  thy  years, 
Confronting  still  thy  triumph  or  dismay, 

And  seas  foremoaning  all  thy  heart  must  know, 
And  stars  whose  light  shall  glisten  in  thy  tears. 


123 


THE  SLEEPERS 

Tho  weak  the  wintry  sunlight  beam, 

The  slumbering  flowers  begin  to  dream. 

Far  south,  and  very  faintly,  sing 

The  announcing  angels  of  the  Spring. 

Tho  muffling  snows  be  drifted  deep, 
Forgotten  voices  cross  their  sleep; 

Soon,  to  the  rain's  release  and  fall, 
They  shall  awaken,  and  recall. 

Ears  have  they  not,  yet  shall  they  hear 
The  vernal  trumpets  ringing  clear; 

They  have  not  eyes,  and  yet  shall  see 
The  road  to  Spring's  nativity. 


124 


THE  SLEEPERS 

Seems  it  not  true  a  subtler  Light 
Bestows  on  them  the  boon  of  sight, 

Since  they,  whom  mortals  reckon  blind, 
A  wiser  way  than  mortals  find? — 

The  path  to  Nature's  large  repose, 
Where  poppy,  lilac,  lupin,  rose 

In  beauty  and  in  silence  wait 

The  fortunes  of  their  meek  estate. 


125 


THE  SLEEP  OF  BIRDS 

Where  canyon-waters  dimly  fall  or  creep, — 

Where  fields  are  still,  or  down  the  mournful  coast, 

They  cease  from  singing,  and  above  their  sleep 
WTheel  the  wild  moon  and  half  the  starry  host. 

Linnet  and  gull,  the  dove  and  fluting  thrush, 

Are  silent  in  the  reaccepted  dark; 
The  patient  eagles  drowse  within  the  hush, 

And  evening  grasses  hide  the  dreamless  lark. 

Surely  the  night  seems  long,  the  morrow  far, 
Until  the  eternal  fountains  foam  anew, 

And  mad  with  day  they  see  the  morning  star 
Linger  in  light,  ere  splendors  touch  the  dew. 


126 


THE  SLEEP  OF  BIRDS 

Ere  man  had  faith,  theirs  were  the  bonds  of  trust 
Between  their  weakness  and  a  Power  withdrawn : 

The  wind  of  wings,  the  midnight  talon-thrust — 
Knowing  of  those  they  slumber  till  the  dawn ! 

But  we  how  often,  fugitives  of  care, 

Awaken  when  the  night  is  loud  or  dumb, 

And  see  the  solemn  altars  of  despair, 

And  dread  the  dark,  and  dread  the  day  to  cornel 


127 


SPRING  IN  MONTEREY 

A  hundred  fisher  boats  are  out  on  the  bay; 
The  breakers  flash,  and  the  lazy  sea-gulls  sway, 
A-perch  on  the  tethered  raft  and  the  dipping  prow; 
And  a  cloud  is  white  on  the  farthest  mountain's  brow. 

Under  our  ancient  oaks  the  turf  is  green, 
And  hoarding  poppies  hold  their  priceless  sheen; 
Up  in  the  pasture-lands  their  golden  lines 
Pause  at  the  sullen  emerald  of  the  pines. 

Halcyon  days  are  now,   and  a  spell  on  ocean  and 

earth ; 
Tranquil  spaces  and  deeds  and  a  share  in  the  cosmic 

mirth. 

And  oh !  to  feel,  in  the  shadowed  days  to  be, 
The  light  from  the  sun  and  the  living  wind  from  the 

sea! 


128 


SPRING  IN  MONTEREY 

And  oh !  to  feel  the  joy  in  the  blackbird's  breast, 
A-tinkle  over  the  rushes  that  hide  the  nest! 
O  bridals  free !     O  lonely  mating  of  birds  I 
O  gentle  music  given  in  place  of  words ! 

Listen  awhile,  ere  the  noontide  hush  the  strain, 
Or  the  lark  on  her  eggs  lie  meek  to  the  vestal  rain. 
Cast  your  care  on  the  way  that  the  sea-mist  went, 
And  draw  the  Spring  to  the  heart  in  a  sigh  of  content. 


129 


THE  LAST  DAYS 

The  russet  leaves  of  the  sycamore 

Lie  at  last  on  the  valley  floor — 

By  the  autumn  wind  swept  to  and  fro 

Like  ghosts  in  a  tale  of  long  ago. 

Shallow  and  clear  the  Carmel  glides 

Where  the  willows  droop  on  its  vine-walled  sides. 

The  bracken-rust  is  red  on  the  hill; 

The  pines  stand  brooding,  somber  and  still; 

Grey  are  the  cliffs,  and  the  waters  grey, 

Where  the  seagulls  dip  to  the  sea-born  spray. 

Sad  November,  lady  of  rain, 

Sends  the  goose-wedge  over  again. 


130 


THE  LAST  DAYS 

Wilder  now,  for  the  verdure's  birth, 
Falls  the  sunlight  over  the  earth; 
Killdees  call  from  the  fields  where  now 
The  banding  blackbirds  follow  the  plow ; 
Rustling  poplar  and  brittle  weed 
Whisper  low  to  the  river-reed. 

Days  departing  linger  and  sigh; 
Stars  come  soon  to  the  quiet  sky; 
Buried  voices,  intimate,  strange, 
Cry  to  body  and  soul  of  Change ; 
Beauty,  eternal  fugitive, 
Seeks  the  home  that  we  cannot  give. 


NATURAL  HISTORY  ITEMS 

FATHER  COYOTE 

At  twilight  time,  when  the  lamps  are  lit, 

Father  coyote  corqes  to  sit 

At  the  chapparal's  edge,  on  the  mountain-side- 

Comes  to  listen  and  to  deride 

The  rancher's  hound  and  the  rancher's  son, 

The  passer-by  and  everyone. 

And  we  pause  at  milking-time  to  hear 

His  reckless  carolling,  shrill  and  clear, — 

His  terse  and  swift  and  valorous  troll, 

Ribald,  rollicking,  scornful,  droll, 

As  one  might  sing  in  coyotedorn : 

"Yo  ho  ho  and  a  bottle  of  rum !" 

Yet  well  I  wot  there  is  little  ease 

Where  the  turkeys  roost  in  the  almond  trees, 


132 


FATHER  COYOTE 

But  mute  forebodings,  canny  and  grim, 

As  they  shift  and  shiver  along  the  limb. 

And  the  dog  flings  back  an  answer  brief 

(Curse  o'  the  honest  man  on  the  thief) , 

And  the  cat,  till  now  intent  to  rove, 

Stalks  to  her  lair  by  the  kitchen  stove ; 

Not  that  she  fears  the  rogue  on  the  hill ; 

But — no  mice  remain,  and — the  night  is  chill. 

And  now,  like  a  watchman  of  the  skies, 

Whose  glance  to  a  thousand  valleys  flies, 

The  moon  glares  over  the  granite  ledge — 

Pared  a  slice  on  its  upper  edge. 

And  father  coyote  waits  no  more, 

Knowing  that  down  on  the  valley  floor, 

In  a  sandy  nook  all  cool  and  white, 

The  rabbits  play  and  the  rabbits  fight, 

Flopping,  nimble,  skurrying, 

Careless  now  with  the  surge  of  Spring.  .  .  . 

Furry  lover,  alack !  alas ! 

Skims  your  fate  o'er  the  moonlit  grass ! 


133 


THE  LAGOON 

Where  Carmel  River  nears  the  sea 
The  surf  is  loud  and  high; 

There  go  the  gull  and  heron  free 
Against  the  morning  sky. 

And  there  the  tireless  billow  heaps 

The  salt  and  amber  sand, 
And  rears  a  bar  whose  rampart  keeps 

The  river  to  the  land. 

Pent  in,  the  baffled  waters  spread 

To  one  serene  lagoon, 
A  crimson  lake  ere  day  is  fled, — 

A  mirror  to  the  moon. 

All  night  the  western  ocean  raves 

Below  the  tacit  star; 
All  night  the  shock  of  towering  waves 

Is  on  the  narrow  bar. 

134 


THE  LAGOON 

But  close  at  hand  the  sea-birds  lie 

In  refuge  from  the  deep, 
And  through  the  dark  the  rushes  sigh 

Where  tern  and  mallard  sleep. 

Near  by  the  surf  casts  up  its  snow 

To  tell  its  large  unrest, 
But  in  that  placid  sky  below 

The  mirrored  stars  creep  west. 

A  thousand  voices  fill  the  night 
Where  cold  the  waters  fall; 

Unmoved,  they  wait  the  morning  light, 
Nor  heed  that  rage  at  all. 

Where  Carmel  River  meets  the  sea 

The  loon  a  refuge  hath; 
The  sea-bird  slumbers  quietly 

A  stone's  throw  from  that  wrath. 


135 


RELATIVITY 

Said  the  little  grey  snipe  to  his  brothers  few, 
Where  the  river  flows  by  Martin's  farm, 

"Stay !  the  hunting  is  not  for  you : 

We  are  too  small  for  man  to  harm." 

And  I  went  past  on  my  way  to  the  geese, 

Scarce  a  rod  from  the  tiny  band, 
Which  moved  no  feather,  but  stood  in  peace 

On  the  verge  of  the  pleasant  meadow-land. 

But  when  I  had  gone  came  another  one, 

From  the  hill  where  the  lupin-pods  were  ripe. 

Small  as  he  was  he  carried  a  gun — 
Alas !    alas !    for  the  little  snipe ! 

And  I  came  back  from  a  fruitless  quest, 
But  another  stood  in  a  pine-set  cot, 

And  said,  with  pride  in  his  glowing  breast: 
"See,  mother,  see  the  big  birds  I  shot!" 

136 


THE  PLAINT  OF  THE  COTTON-TAILS 

Deem  it  not  strange  that  we,  the  small, 

Are  timorous  of  earth, 
And  fail  to  find  existence  all 

A  thing  of  thoughtless  mirth : 
Now,  as  the  cloudy  sunset  wanes, 

The  lean  coyote  prowls, 
And  on  the  silent  willow-lanes 

Come  twilight  and  the  owls. 

Loving  them  not,  we  mostly  seek 

Near  man  our  habitat, 
And  thence,  in  lieu  of  fang  or  beak, 

Goes  forth  the  prowling  cat. 
O  ye  who  seem  her  willing  slaves, 

That  such  deceit  can  be ! 
It  is  not  mice  the  sleek  one  craves 

But  our  small  progeny. 


137 


THE  PLAINT  OF  THE  COTTON-TAILS 

Deem  it  not  strange  that  we  should  sigh 

Rabbinical  "Alas!" 
The  tilting  hawk  is  on  the  sky, 

The  bull-snake  in  the  grass. 
What  of  man's  little  love,  they  too 

Incur  his  hostile  powers; 
But  where  can  other  creatures  view 

A  nursery  like  ours? 

Our  direst  foe  we  name  the  last, 

And  him  we  daily  name. 
Of  him  coyotes  stand  aghast; 

For  him  the  cat  is  tame ; 
For  him  we  run  with  stinging  flanks, 

Or  die  at  set  of  sun : 
O  peril  of  our  thinning  ranks — 

The  small  boy  with  a  gun  1 

It  is  our  common  lot  to  bide 
By  the  blackberry  walls, 


138 


THE  PLAINT  OF  THE  COTTON-TAILS 

Or  where  along  the  riverside 

The  thrush  ere  twilight  calls. 
It  is  our  common  lot  to  wait 

Too  long  by  but  a  breath; 
Then  speaks,  abrupt,  the  urchin  Fate : 

A  bang,  a  kick — and  death ! 


139 


A  POSSIBILITY 

On  a  windy  day,  in  the  russet  reeds 

Where  the  blackbird  swings  and  the  mallard  feeds, 

I  hid  me  well,  lest  the  setting  sun 

Gleam  for  an  instant  on  my  gun; 

Quietly  there  would  I  ambush  me 

Till  the  whirring  ducks  came  in  from  the  sea. 

And  there  as  I  listened,  hushed,  intent, 

To  the  din  of  the  marsh-wrens'  argument, 

A  great  blue  heron,  stately,  grand, 

Tired  of  the  mice  in  the  meadow-land, 

Hungry,  perchance,  for  the  frogs  in  the  sedge, 

Came  and  stood  at  the  river-edge — 

Stood  alert,  with  an  roving  eye, 

Wary  of  river  and  reeds  and  sky. 


140 


A  POSSIBILITY 

He  saw  me  not,  tho  soon  for  a  jest 

I  took  long  aim  at  his  lilac  breast, 

Till  some  alarm  of  a  subtler  sense 

Leapt  in  his  heart,  and  he  hurried  thence, 

With  dripping  feet  and  with  broad  wings  spread- 

A  mote  at  last  where  the  west  was  red. 

And  I  thought :    Tho  now  I  seem  secure 

(An  armed  man  on  a  friendly  moor)  — 

Tho  strong  and  sure  on  my  ways  I  go, 

Nor  find  a  peril  nor  wait  a  foe, 

Perchance  I  stand,  this  set  o'  the  sun, 

At  the  ruth  of  a  dire  and  mighty  One. 

Perchance  a  Presence  is  holding  now 

A  sword  invisible  o'er  my  brow, 

Till,  half  in  scorn  of  the  gnat  beneath, 

He  smiles,  and  sets  it  back  to  the  sheath. 


141 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


'73  - 


RPP     1 


BED,  CIR.  SEP    1  "83 


*Wlr  1 9  1985 


REC  nif?  flPR  1  Q  IQOf. 
"      *     130;) 


GENERAL  LIBRARY -U.C.  BERKELEY 


